The Ficlets Archives
by Animagus Anonymous
Summary: My drabbles/ficlets for three HP forums (listed in A.N.). Currently: harry and Draco have gotten over their animosity: but it was a long and bumpy road to get to where they are– at peace. Please read, review, follow, and favorite!
1. Chapter 1

**A.N.: Hello, everyone, I'm back! This is a new story that has combined three prompts for my three forums (listed below) and I'm very excited to be writing one-shots again for the new year of the Houses Competition (which is kinda how my schedule runs with these one-shot compilations, but we'll see how it goes with the other forums) and be writing stories for my other forums.**

 **This story was written for:**

 **the Slytherin house of the Houses Competition forum as a short story**

 **the Wampus house of Ilvermorny school for the Severus Snape- Always challenge on the Golden Snitch forum**

 **the Hufflepuff house of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (Challenges and Assignments) forum.**

 **Prompts:**

 **Houses Competition:[emotion] anger**

 **The Golden Snitch: (scenario) the day Severus was born**

 **Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Challenges and Assignments: Sex ed. class, task 2: someone getting pregnant**

 **Warning: verbal and physical abuse**

 **Word Count: 1,971**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

"Tobias?" Eileen whispered, opening the door to their grimy, rickety house carefully, mindful of the way the door hinges squeaked. She didn't want to disturb, and then anger, her husband. "Tobias? I have something to tell you. It's important this time, I swear," she called again, a little louder this time. She drew a sheet-thin gray sweater around her too-skinny frame as an evening draft swept through the house. "Tobias?" she called one last time, before giving up and entering the dining room, which was really a space cleared to make room for an old, rickety table, without permission.

Not again, Eileen thought. Her husband was slumped over the table, an entire bottle of putrid whiskey still clenched in his hand. Eileen sighed. Her husband had… a problem. Some would call him an alcoholic, but when Eileen had brought that up once, she'd been punished, so she ignored the subject as best she could. Nevertheless, Tobias was passed-out drunk almost daily, and though she knew the drink made him angry – at her, at the world, at anything in sight – he was angrier when he was sober, or when she tried to get him to be, but maybe that was just because she'd try to take away his drink. At least, that's what Eileen told herself while she waited out the time he was raging about, scaring her into the corner unless she'd have to come and face a punishment for something that she hadn't been able to control. But he'd always collapse in the end. Thank Merlin for that. Dealing with an angry Tobias on a daily basis was nerve-racking at best, and one would not want to deal with an angry Tobias "24/7", as the Muggles said.

Eileen hesitantly reached out to touch his shoulder. When she got no response, she prodded more firmly. The only sign of life in him was a snort and a turn of his head to rest it on his other elbow.

He was almost peaceful sitting there. He was certainly quiet, a rare occurrence; when he was awake he was either angrily raging at one thing or the next or angrily raging at Eileen. His mouth was a straight line, but it was an improvement from the constant scowl he wore whenever possible. Did it make her a bad wife for almost wishing he'd stay that way? But no matter, Eileen had big news.

She sighed again. Now that he was like this, there was only one way to wake him: to take away his drink. It really did make him angry when she did that, but this was important. And so, with practiced speed and dexterity, Eileen plucked the bottle from his grasp.

The reaction was almost instantaneous. The man sat bolt upright, roaring animalistically as he fought to become alert. In her fright, Eileen threw the bottle across the floor and it shattered, spilling the whiskey and intensifying the vile smell. The sound of smashing glass seemed to bring the drunken animal to his senses, and he focused, beady, angry, red-rimmed eyes on the spill before moving them slowly to fix the mutinous gaze on his wife.

They stood, locked in a staring battle for a second before Tobias erupted.

"What is wrong with you, woman?! I've told you again and again: don't touch my liquor!" he screamed, his face beet red as his wife shrunk back, terrified. "And my head bleeding hurts and come in here and wake me without permission?!"

"But, Tobias, this is important," Eileen whimpered.

"Oh, important is it? What's important is that I get my bleeding sleep!" Tobias grabbed her arm, digging his nails into her flesh and squeezing in a way that would surely bruise. He pulled her towards him and leered over her, and Eileen fought to keep from sobbing. Crying did nothing. "You'd best remember that."

"But I'm pregnant," she breathed.

His grip slacked and he stared into her eyes blankly in shock. For a moment, Eileen dared to hope he wouldn't be angry, might be happy even, but when she looked up, she saw he had gathered his wits and his eyes had darkened even more dangerously than before.

"You're what?"

"Pregnant," she squeaked.

His breath quickened, and soon his chest was heaving. "How dare you? How dare you?"

"What–? Tobias, this is not my fault–"

"It bloody well is your fault! You landed me with a– a– baby?! An offspring! An urchin!" He stopped, and the only sound was his ragged breathing as Eileen waited, trembling. He was angry, and when he was angry, the consequences were… severe. Maybe because she was pregnant it wouldn't be as bad?

But with his first blow, he that faint hope was extinguished. She cringed and cried, praying for the pain to end; when he finally tired of hitting her, he staggered to the liquor cabinet and let her sobbing on the floor.

* * *

 **Nine months later**

Eileen walked down the busy street as quickly as possible, the bags of groceries and liquor she carried digging into her sides, her feet aching and swollen. She was almost due now, just another week until her baby would be born.

Of course, as pregnant as she was, Tobias still had her do her regular tasks and chores. She cooked and cleaned and went out and bought all the liquor she could carry. She also still worked her two jobs to make sure they had enough rent money for the month, especially with Tobias's drinking habits and the supplies she'd bought for the baby (with only her small share of money, as Tobias "refused to contribute to the wellbeing of someone he had had no intention of creating"). She groaned a tendril of pain gripped her like a vice.

It's probably a false alarm, Eileen said to herself even as she stopped to rest until the pain passed. Eventually, the pain subsided, and she continued to walk for another few minutes before the same pain laced through her back again. Eileen took deep breaths, setting the bags carefully on the floor for a minute before continuing. And then, just a few minutes later, she was in pain again.

Eileen waddled over to an alleyway on the side of the street before setting the bags on the ground once more. She felt her stomach. It was rock hard.

Could the baby be coming? Here? Now? she wondered, even as her breath quickened. She glanced up and down the road. In the distance, the faded gray sign of the corner store she worked at was just visible. Eileen left the bags and hobbled away.

* * *

She was going to die. She was sure of it. The pain was unlike anything she'd felt before, worse than Tobias's punishments by far. Eileen burst into the corner store (finally) and held onto the counter for dear life as the other hand clutched her stomach. "Baby," she gasped.

The cashier, a young girl who couldn't be older than seventeen, was frozen in shock. The entire store looked at the gasping, paling, sweating, pregnant woman with wide eyes.

"Someone call an ambulance!" a person yelled. "And get a chair!"

After ten minutes, Eilen was finally led outside, with assistance from the old woman and the cashier, to a Muggle truck that had a bed in it. She laid down gratefully, and the cashier got in before the doors closed, leaving her with only a window in the doors for light, and the ambulance started to move.

Eileen clutched the cashier's hand in a bone-crushing grip as the old ambulance bumped and clunked its way to the local hospital.

"You'll be fine, you'll be fine," the cashier said fretfully, almost as if comforting herself. "We're almost there, just stay calm." Eileen tried to focus on that whispered mantra instead of the pain as the hospital came into view.

Eileen didn't remember much at all after she was taken out of the ambulance, but she found herself in a new bed, wearing a thin, blue, robe-like piece of clothing, with her legs spread apart and a strangely-dressed Muggle looking down her private areas telling her to "push just a little more!"

A woman dressed much like the Muggle telling her to push came and crouched next to her. "The doctor needs you to push, honey."

Doctor? Weren't those the Muggles that cut people up? Why, of all places, did the ambulance take her here?! Eileen tried to push herself up. She needed to get away! "No… no doctor!" she gasped, her voice ragged. Suddenly, the pain intensified and Eileen screamed.

"It's okay, it's okay," the woman soothed. "The doctor is going to make sure you and your baby are healthy, okay? I promise, if you can just cooperate, everything will be fine." Eileen looked at the woman fearfully. "I need you to cooperate with the doctor, sweetie. I know it's hard, but your baby will be healthy. Can you please just do what the doctor says? For your baby?"

Eileen screamed again as another contraction seized her. Oh, what choice did she have anyway?

"For… baby," she heaved.

The woman smiled and held out her hand. "Yes, for your baby. Now push."

Eileen took the woman's hand and did just that.

* * *

Six hours later

A cry split the air. The cry of a newborn baby.

Eileen breathed a sigh of relief and collapsed back into the lumpy bed. Shouts of joy and cheers came from all the Muggles as they saw the baby. Eileen groaned as watched as the "doctor" took what she assumed was her baby into another room and the small crowd followed. Wait… where was he taking her baby?

She sat up with great effort, desperately wishing for her wand so she could hex the stupid Muggle, but it was hidden under the floorboards back at home. Where was he taking her child?

Eileen moved one leg over the bed, then another. She took a minute to stabilize herself against the bedside table before standing up. The world tilted dangerously for a minute, and as Eileen was trying to regain her bearings, the woman who had sat by her through the whole thing came into the room.

"Miss!" she said, sounding horrified. "You need to be in bed."

"They… they took my baby," she said, pointing at the door. "Why did they take my baby?"

"They're just going to clean him up in the other room, wrap him in a blanket. You'll be able to see him soon," she said, leading Eileen gently back down onto the bed.

"'Him'?" she asked dazedly. "It's a boy?'

"Yes, he is. You have a beautiful baby boy."

I'm a mother, Eileen thought as the woman went to the far side of the room. I have a child. "I'm a mum," she said to no one in particular.

"Yes, it's quite amazing, isn't it?" the woman said with a smile. "Oh look, here he comes now."

The "doctor" came into the room once more, the little group following behind him once more. But Eileen was only focused on the bundle in his arms.

The man lowered the baby into her arms. "Meet your son."

Eileen gave a little gasp as the small, warm weight settled into her arms. He was a small thing, with a tuft of his mother's jet black hair, his father's obsidian eyes, and a tiny, adorable scrunched-up face. The baby himself was so tiny, so fragile. A ball of warmth unfurled in her stomach as she realized that this small thing, this amazing tiny person, was all hers, hers to protect and to nurture and to love.

A smile crept its way onto Eileen's face and she gasped as the baby yawned and shifted a little.

"Hello, my son," she whispered. "Hello, Severus Tobias Snape."

~Fin~

 **What'd you think? Please leave a review!**

 **P.S. If you follow my other story, To Raise A Saviour, Ch3 is coming, I promise!**


	2. Llámame Más Tarde

**A.N.: Written as a drabble for the Houses Competition forum using the prompt "canon pairing of choice". Muggle coffee shop AU!**

 **Also submitting this to the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Challenges and Assignments forum's Insane House Challenge using prompt 13: (character) James Potter and the 365 Prompts Challenge using prompt prompt 18: Cafe!AU.**

 **Disclaimer: I am definitely NOT a native Spanish speaker, so if I mess anything, please do correct me in reviews; I'd love to learn.**

* * *

James had tuned out Sirus's chatter long ago, and was now lazily looking up from staring out the foggy picture window every time the little bell above the coffee shop door announced a newcomer. The bell chimed once more, and James looked up, expecting to see another one of the regular businessmen grabbing a quick coffee on their break. But who actually entered made his eyes widen in shock.

The girl was stunning. Locks of auburn hair framed a small, heart-shaped face, and tired, but still bright, vivid green eyes blinked wearily at her surroundings. James was instantly head-over-heels.

"Oye, mírala," James said, nudging Sirius and nodding towards her.

"Why are you talking in… oh," Sirius said, turning look at the vision. "¿Piensas que está buena?"

"Sí." The boys had made a pact to learn Spanish when they were fifteen so they could talk in secret about people – specifically girls – in private.

"Ella esta bien," Sirius said with a shrug. "¿Por qué no vas hablar con ella?"

"Sabes que no puedo hablar con las chicas," James said nervously.

Sirius rolled his eyes as James's eyes followed the girl to the counter, where she bought a scone and a soy latte and sat down at a table across the room. James could have sworn he saw her glance at them, but he was most likely just hopeful.

James continued to watch the girl as she pulled out a laptop and began typing while Sirius remained exasperated and amused.

"Su pelo," James said. "Es hermoso. Y esos ojos." She took a sip of her coffee. "Las cosas que haría." The girl stopped typing and wrote something down on a paper.

"Dios, hombre, invitala a salir."

"¡No! ¿Estás loco?" The girl stood up and turned to walk over to them. "Excelente, ella viene aquí. ¿Qué hago? ¿Cómo me veo?"

"Sólo actúa normal, idiota."

The girl stood right next to James now, seemingly relaxed. James's pulse quickened and he ran a hand through his hair. "Uh, hi."

"Puedo hablar español," she said accusingly.

James's eyes widened almost comically. "Oh, uh, we were just–" He turned to Sirius, but his friend just raised an eyebrow and smirked. "I, um, I was only saying–"

She rolled her eyes, but they darted around nervously. "Pienso que eres muy lindo también." Her face flushed an adorable red and she slid a piece of paper across the table at him. There was an awkward silence as James gaped and Sirius tried not to laugh out loud. The girl seemed to gather up her courage, and finally she leaned over and pecked James on the check, whispering in his ear as she did so, "Llámame más tarde."

She walked hurriedly out of the coffee shop, leaving James with her phone number clutched in his hand, touching his cheek with the other, dazed.


	3. Helpless

**A.N.: Written for Hufflepuff House for the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Challenges and Assignments forum's Insane House Challenge and 365 Prompts Challenge.**

Prompts: Insane House Challenge: 217. (song) Helpless – Hamilton

365 Prompts Challenge: 112. (emotion) jealousy

Ron stumbled after his sister as she dragged him toward the back of the ballroom by his wrist. "Why did I agree to this again?"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "One, I'm your sister; two, my friend is throwing a Yule ball, and three, because you're lonely, socially awkward, and you haven't had a date in a while."

"Right. That."

"Come on, there's plenty of cute chicks here."

"Ginny, this hardly seems like the type of party to hit on girls."

"Why ever not?"

"Because everyone is in ball gowns or suits and drinking champagne– which I could use right about now," he said, nodding to the server as he nimbly grabbing two flutes of the fizzy alcohol off the tray.

Again, Ginny rolled her eyes. "I know Lavender's a bit… extravagant–"

"That's a big word," Ron muttered.

"– but there's no reason you shouldn't meet someone here," Ginny reasoned, even as she stepped on his foot in retaliation.

"I'd rather you just leave me in peace," Ron said, sipping his champagne and glancing at the nearest exits. "I don't– " But then he saw her. Then you walked in and my heart went "BOOM"!

Wearing a flowy periwinkle dress that seemed to twinkle in the fairy lights, her deep brown hair was rather wild, tumbling down her back in spiraling curls. She was chatting to a woman with pale blonde hair who looked rather out of place wearing radish-shaped earrings. The brunette's eyes seemed to narrow in annoyance with each passing second as she debated with the dreamy-looking blonde. Ron's eyes followed her as she took champagne from a tray and stood against the wall with the blonde. She suddenly seemed to sense someone looking at her, for she looked in Ron's direction for a minute, but turned away. Trying to catch your eye from the side of the ballroom… Ron internally swore and moved to get closer to her.

"Hello? Ron? Earth to Ronald?" Ron snapped to attention at his sister's calls, but it was far too late. Ginny's mouth turned upwards into her signature mischievous smirk that meant she was up to something. "You think she's hot?"

Ron glanced back at the woman but she'd turned away. "Maybe…" Ron mumbled, his face heating up more.

"Well, go and talk to her, dummy."

Ron nervously glanced around the room, trying not to meet his sister's eyes. "Ginny, just leave me alone."

She huffed. "Well, if you're going to be a baby about it, I'll talk to her."

"Wait, no–" And she slipped through the crowd and disappeared.

Ron groaned and rubbed at his face with his hands. How did he get here, with his sister as his wing-woman?

Looking back at the beauty, Ron muttered "oh my god" as Ginny approached her. My sister makes her way across the room to you…

Ron bit his lip and tried to act casual as Ginny and the vision struck up a conversation. He rubbed his sweaty palms against his legs before realizing that might not be the best idea. I'm getting nervous thinking what's she gonna do?

The two women laughed suddenly and Ron found himself wondering what about. He craned his neck to try to hear and then a large figure blocked his view. Ron huffed and continued walking towards the brunette, but when he saw the figure that had begun talking with the women, he blanched.

The man was huge and burly, and his chest and shoulders barely seemed to fit inside his very tight suit that didn't leave much to the imagination. With blond curls, sharp blue eyes, and a million dollar smile, how would Ron compete? I'm thinking I'm through…

Ginny took the new arrival in stride, though Ron could see her eyes narrow ever so slightly as she recognized the man as another obstacle. The man apparently then said something that was hilarious, because both women burst into giggles. It was only then that Ginny saw Ron much nearer than she'd thought, and her eyes widened for a split second before she made her excuses and detached herself.

"Why is he there?" Ron hissed.

"Well, it's not like I can control where he walks and who he talks to," Ginny said. "If you'd just talked to her before…"

Ron tuned her out, too busy focusing on the bloke that was way too close to the beautiful woman for her to possibly be comfortable. He tried to catch her attention again and then she looked at him. He seemed to drown in orbs of dark brown as she gave him a small smile. Look into your eyes and the sky's the limit…

The moment was ruined as the other man gestured for her to follow him and led her to one of the small tables with pristine white tablecloths dotting the perimeter of the room. He pulled out a chair for her and she sat down gracefully. Ron's scowl deepened. It should be him pulling out her chair, him talking and laughing with her without a care in the world.

"Ooh, someone's jealous," Ginny teased.

"Am not," Ron grumbled futilely, and turned back to watch the two. He was enraged by what he saw.

The guy was leaning in and whispering in her ear what could only be horrible happenings because why else would she blush so uncomfortably like that?

"That's it," he muttered. Ron shouldered his way through the crowd, ignoring the sounds of exclamation and spilled champagne in his angry wake. He finally reached the table where he was and stood over him, glowering.

The man looked up, still smiling stupidly. "Can I help you?"

Ron couldn't find the right words to tell the man how awfully disgusting he was being, so he turned to the woman and asked, "Would you like to dance?"

"What?" she asked, surprised at the sudden turn of events.

"I said, would you like to dance?"

"Oh, yes please," she said, taking his hand and letting him lead her to the dance floor. A nice, jazzy song came on and the two began to dance to the beat, not really having steps to follow, but just moving to the rhythm.

"Thank you so much for asking me to dance," she said. "That guy was rather… forward for my tastes."

"My pleasure." Ron smiled shyly as his ears flushed red.

"My name's Hermione, by the way. Hermione Granger."

"Ron, Ron Weasley."

"Pleasure to meet you, Ron Weasley." Hermione beamed.

Suddenly, the song switched to a slow song. The pairs around them switched to a kind of ballroom dancing Ron had never learned in an instant. He and Hermione stood there awkwardly. "Well, would you like to…" Ron asked, staring at the ground and gesturing needlessly to the people around them.

"O-only if you want to…"

Slowly and awkwardly, Ron settled his right hand at her waist and she put her left on his shoulder. Their hands met in the air and began a stiff box-step that soon turned to just swaying. The two stared into each others eyes and Ron felt a swooping feeling in his stomach as he got lost in her chocolate brown eyes again. Down for the count and I'm drowning in 'em, I'm helpless…

The spell was broken as the song ended and friendly chatter resumed around them. Ron felt his face heat as he pulled away from Hermione realizing that his face had become extremely close to hers as they'd danced.

"Do you want to go out with me sometime?" The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them.

Hermione looked at him, calculating but shy at the same time. She brought her other hand to rest on his other shoulder. "I do."

~Fin~

 **In case you're wondering, yes that was Cormac McLaggen. What'd you think? Leave a review please!**


	4. Albert the Peacock King

**A/N: Written for the Houses Competition forum's round 2 as a short story for Slytherin House. Also written for the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Challenges and Assignments forum's 365 Prompts Challenge and their Insane House Challenge for Hufflepuff House.**

 **Houses Competition prompt: 7. Peacock**

 **365 Prompts prompt: 348. (word) hallowed**

 **Insane House prompt: 35. (character) Pansy Parkinson**

 **Word count: 1,435**

Pansy walked through the gates of Malfoy Manor briskly, needing to complain to someone about her horrific day. Her coffee machine had broken, then a guy who would have given her the dirt on Appleby Arrows's seeker Gregory Cotton had cancelled. Her favorite bakery had been shut down for renovations, and after an underfed and annoyed Pansy had went all the way to the Ministry to interview the head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, the bloke had the audacity to suggest they didn't have an interview, and it was just… one of those days where everything seemed to go wrong, you know? The point was, she just needed to vent, and there was no better candidate than her long-time friend, Draco Malfoy.

She marched up the long driveway, her heels clicking on the pavement and magenta robes billowing in the air. The lane was lined with acres of grass, and many trees further back, flowers of all kinds dotted the lawn. It really was a beautiful estate, if not for one thing– the peacocks. For the life of her, Pansy couldn't understand the Malfoys' tradition of keeping peacocks, much less albino peacocks, as if their wealth wasn't displayed grandly enough already (and as a Parkinson, she was very understanding of tradition). The things were high-maintenance, vain even for birds, and (though she'd never admit it) just scary. And there were flocks of them all over the property! It just added to Pansy's terrible mood. She sped up towards the door as one of the white, overgrown menaces took a few steps towards her. Those sharp beaks were way too close for comfort.

Pansy finally let herself into the Manor. She was greeted by the House Elf, Nookey, and he bowed and took her coat.

"Where is Draco?" she asked.

"Master Draco went out and returned a few minutes ago. Nookey knows not where he is."

"Very well." Pansy huffed in impatience and began her search. His bedroom, Scorpius's room, the playroom, the sitting rooms, and the libraries were all devoid of life. So were the dining rooms. Draco hardly went anywhere else in the Manor– where could he be?

Then, as she was turning away, Pansy caught sight of a strange happening outside the window. It was Draco and Scorpius, outside of all places. And they were surrounded by… peacocks? Draco seemed to be pointing out one peacock in particular to his son, and making odd gestures with his arms and hands.

What on earth… ? Pansy made her way through the Manor's winding hallways quickly. If she could figure out what this was in time, there was an opportunity for a healthy bit of blackmail. Her day was looking better already.

Finally, Pansy was out on the grounds. By the calculations of her wand, she had to go west for a few minutes until she found them. She looked to her right and blanched.

She'd forgotten about the other peacocks.

The whole flock of them were watching her with interest, wondering what was about to happen. Or wondering how fast they'll be able to chase me down, Pansy's brain supplied helpfully. But, you know what, she could be brave! She wasn't a Gryffindor by any means (Merlin help her if that were the case), but she wasn't one to let a mere fear get in the way of blackmail material. I mean, they're just birds, she reasoned. And I'm a fully-grown, fully-trained witch, thank you very much! I can handle this!

Pansy edged her way around the flock, trying not to look as their eyes bored into her soul. Finally, once she got behind them, she sped up as much as she could without having her heels sink into the grass. Luckily, the things didn't chase after her. Dumb animals.

Pansy finally saw the pair, two identical figure, except one was significantly smaller than the other. And they were positively surrounded by peacocks. Pansy ducked behind some bushes, careful not to get her robes dirty even in her fear. Let the blasted birds take Draco instead, since he was stupid enough to bring him a five-year-old that close to them, that's what she thought. Once Pansy got over her fear, she was close enough to hear what the two were saying.

"... And this, Scorp, is the leader of the muster."

"What's a muster?"

"A group of peacocks." Pansy snorted quietly and rolled her eyes. Only Draco would care what a group of bleeding peacocks were called. "This one is Albert, and he's the leader of them all."

"Like a king?" Scorpius asked.

Draco laughed. "Yes, quite like that."

"Then we hafta bow to the peacock king, Fadder."

Pansy could hear the suppressed laughter in Draco's voice as he said, "Really? I didn't know."

"Yeah. It's un-respec'ful."

"You're quite right. And the word is 'disrespectful'."

"Okay, Fadder. We bow now?"

"Yes, we'll bow to the peacock king."

Scorpius flung himself down on the ground and bowed. He looked up and saw Draco still standing. "Fadder!"

"Yes, Scorpius?"

"You're not bowing! Albert is gonna be mad!"

"Oh, I'm sure he won't be. We, uh… we go way back." Pansy had a stitch in her side from trying to laugh so hard.

"No! Bow!" Without seeing the child's face, Pansy knew he was putting on that irresistible pout of his.

Eventually, Draco sighed and relented. "Very well. I will bow to the peacock– or, er Albert."

"King Albert," Scorpius corrected.

"Yes, King Albert."

And, to Pansy's pleasure, Draco bent down on the grass and bowed to a peacock! It was too much.

A peal of laughter escaped her, and once she started, she couldn't stop. The two blonds whirled, and Pansy stumbled out of the bushes, howling and bent over double.

Draco stared, dumbstruck, at his friend, before he finally figured out what she'd been laughing at, and his face turned a horrible shade of red.

Scorpius, however, didn't understand how he was supposed to remain loyal to his father, and ran at her, shrieking, "Aunty Pansy! Aunty Pansy!"

Pansy recovered enough to scoop up the excited child. "Hey, Scorp!" she said brightly. "What did you do today?"

As if you don't know, Draco thought mutinously.

"I showed Fadder how to bow to Albert. He was bein' un-respec'ful and he didn't know how to bow to the king! That's Albert," he explained, pointing. "He's the king."

"I see," Pansy said. "Draco, were you being disrespectful to Albert? Peacock kings deserve to be honored, you know." Before the man had a chance to answer, she turned to Scorpius and asked, "Was your father being disrespectful, Scorp?"

"Uh huh!"

"Well, we're going to fix that right away! All hail Albert, the esteemed peacock king!" Pansy cried, spinning him around as she smirked at a furious Draco. "Bow at the feet of the hallowed ruler! Pay your respects!"

"Yeah!" Scorpius cheered.

"Come on, Draco! Join us!" Pansy said, setting down Scorpius so he could run around– and so that she could use her newfound blackmail material. "Or I can tell everyone at work about this."

"As if they'd believe you," Draco sniffed.

"Well, pensieves exist and all, so…" Pansy, said, looking down at her nails in false contemplation.

"I hate you," Draco grumbled, and went to go join his son. "All hail the hallowed ruler, Albert. Hoorah."

Pansy smirked at Draco and sauntered away as Scorpius cried, "No, not like that, Fadder!"

"Put your back into it, Draco!" she called over her shoulder. "Have some pizazz!"

As Draco heard this, he decided it was the last straw. He would get his revenge. "Hey, Scorp?" he asked.

"Yeah?"

"Would you like to see how fast Albert can run?"

"Yeah!"

"Watch," he told his son. "Albert?" The peacock cocked its head at the voice of its master. "Attack," Draco instructed.

The albino peacock streaked away after the swell of magenta robes.

o.o.o.O.o.o.o

Pansy walked down the driveway in satisfaction away from the embarrassment she'd caused her friend. He was too proud anyway; a bit of humility would do him good.

Her thoughts were disturbed by an ominous clacking sound. They sounded like footsteps, only faster than most people walked. And, come to think of it, they didn't sound exactly human, either…

Pansy turned and found herself staring down a charging, full-speed albino peacock.

She screeched and ran.

o.o.o.O.o.o.o

Back with Scorpius, Draco Malfoy stared around his lawn in contented amusement. After all, it was not every day you saw distinguished Daily Prophet reporter Pansy Parkinson attempting to climb a tree in terror while being chased by your albino peacock.


	5. Twelfth (and Last) Date

**Written for the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Challenges and Assignments forum's Assignment #3, Femslash February challenge, 365 Prompts Challenge, and the Insane House Challenge for Hufflepuff house. Astoria lives!AU.**

 **Assignment #3: Mythology, Task 2- Hera, Goddess of Marriage- write about someone trying to save their marriage.**

 **Femslash February prompt: 36. Ginny/Astoria**

 **365 Prompts Challenge prompt: 113. Emotion- Love**

 **Insane House Challenge prompt: 32. Ginny Weasley**

 **Word count: 1,453**

 **Enjoy!**

It was all Ginny's fault, really. Astoria didn't ask for any of it. Honestly, she didn't. It wasn't her fault that those red locks stirred something in her blond never would, or those deep, soulful, brown eyes that were warm and inviting were so much more intriguing than steely gray. That the well-muscled but still curved figure called to her from across the crowded room when the square, stocky figure of a man never could really compare. That wasn't something Astoria could control. But she didn't act on those impulses, those feelings; she was nothing if not a proper Slytherin, born and bred to control her impulses. And it was… pleasurable and exciting when she did let herself go. When she forgot she had a husband– but Astoria had an image, a reputation, to uphold. It wouldn't do to destroy the public's perception of her— even if she wished and hoped she could.

So it was really Ginny's fault that she ended up where she was now: on their twelfth… date.

Yes, she was on a date with Ginny Weasley.

 _Potter_ , her brain reminded her. Yes, they were both _married_. What was she _doing_?

It had all started when they'd gotten the terrible news: Albus and Scorpius had gotten ahold of a time turner and had gone back twenty years in time. If there was ever a time to lose her composure and faint, this was it.

After Headmistress McGonagall had explained the situation, Astoria has left with Draco, her head a whirlwind of anxiety and worry, trying impossibly to find a solution. Her thought had been interrupted when a voice asked, "Astoria?"

She's looked straight up into those chocolate brown eyes and gotten lost. Normally, she wouldn't have answered, but, perhaps luckily or perhaps stupidly, she'd replied, "Yes?"

"How about we get some lunch sometime?"

"Excuse me?" What did Ginny Potter of all people want with lunch with her?

"We're both mothers in need," she'd replied. "Our sons are both in danger and long-term friends. I thought… it's time to set our husbands' school rivalry aside and finally really get to know each other."

And Astoria had agreed. Once lunch had turned into two, turned into three, turned into four. Astoria found herself enjoying these lunches with Ginny; they'd become the highlight of her weeks. And their sons had returned from their time-traveling crusade, yet they continued to meet. And on their fourth meeting, Ginny had leaned down and kissed her. It had been slow, sweet, and not entirely unwelcome. In that moment, Ginny broke through the cold, unfeeling mask that was Astoria's world. Suddenly, everything felt like sunshine bursting beneath her fingers. And, in an unspoken agreement, the kiss had sealed the beginning of a relationship that had developed to mean so much to Astoria. They talked about nothing and everything, and Astoria had felt happy in a way that made her want to spend more time with Ginny than anyone in the world. She'd had that with Draco once… but as they'd grown older, she guessed it had faded away quite a bit. But with Ginny, despite the fact that they were both well on their way to being forty years old, Astoria still had that. Granted, they'd only met on these… dates eleven times previously, but in the fleeting times they'd see each other, they'd almost fall again into the special bubble that formed around them whenever they were alone, creating a little world that only they knew. It was an escape from Astoria's life in front of the mask. And such an easy escape it was.

So, here Astoria was, tucked away in a corner of a dark pub that gave off a warm glow that she was sure changed a person's perception of time. Under a Notice-Me-Not charm, she waited for Ginny, her… Well, they hadn't gotten around to labels yet.

For the umpteenth time that week, her brain reminded her of something they'd also failed to get around to: that fact that they were both married.

Merlin, what was she doing?

They couldn't keep a secret like this from their husbands, much less the press. That was out of the question. Besides, Astoria did not make a practice of lying to anyone about anything if she could help it, though she'd been trained to do so since birth. She had two choices: continue… this (whatever this was) and keep putting up the happily married charade, or – she exhaled dejectedly – essentially dump Ginny and put this whole thing past her. Astoria sighed. There was only one answer, and there had been from the beginning.

This would have to end.

Astoria stared at the door, abject. These meetings, these… dates, had been so carefree and fun. She had fun with Ginny, laughing and drinking and being with her happy in a way she and Draco weren't. But she had to save her marriage with Draco. Astoria was rejected by society enough as it was for being Draco's wife; it would not bode well to destroy her reputation further. She was doing this for her marriage.

Astoria was jerked out of her thoughts by the jingle of the bell over the door. Instinctively, she checked for the flash of red that often announced Ginny's presence, and there she was, in all her bold glory, looking as beautiful as ever with her cheeks flushed red from the cold. She glanced around the pub searchingly, and Astoria hurriedly cancelled the charm. Ginny spotted her at once, and made her way over quickly so that Astoria could put up more privacy charms.

"It's been a while, hasn't it?" Ginny asked, a bit out of breath as she sat down. "How are you these days?"

"Alright," Astoria replied quietly, nervous at the task at hand. But she was committed to her decision, and wasn't one to give in so easily. "And you?"

"Oh, aren't we past those formalities?" Ginny said with a laugh, reaching for Astoria's hand across the table. With a sharp inhale, Astoria pulled away and stared at the ground. "Aren't the charms steady?" Ginny asked, looking around cautiously to see if any other customers had noticed.

"No, the charms are fine," Astoria murmured.

Ginny looked as if she was about to comment, but she closed her mouth and instead said, "I was… thinking about where we are going."

Oh, thank Merlin. Best to spit it out now, before she lost courage. "I was too," Astoria told her. "And I was thinking, this can't–"

"Can't be our dirty little secret anymore," Ginny finished eagerly.

Astoria looked at her in surprise. She'd had no idea Ginny was on the same page. Perhaps this would much easier than she'd thought. "Yes. That's what I thought, too."

"So I was thinking it's time we come out," Ginny announced, her eyes sparkling in the dim light as she awaited an answer.

Shock crossed her features once again, and Astoria's heart nearly broke at her expression. She seemed so eager, so sure that Astoria would be willing to take the jump with her. "Oh."

"It's fine if you aren't ready," Ginny continued hurriedly when Astoria didn't leap at the suggestion. "If you don't want to come out or if you… need more time with…" She gave a little wave at Astoria's left hand, where her wedding ring still sat on her finger. "I just…" She sighed, thinking of how to word her thoughts. "People say that people fall in love. But do think… is it possible for you to fall out of love?"

Astoria contemplated it for a moment. "I… suppose so. Why?"

"Because I think… I think I've fallen out of love. With Harry. And… and I think I love you."

Astoria's mouth dropped in a very unladylike manner. Oh, Ginny. Her eyes must have reflected her inner turmoil because Ginny's bright, hopeful features dropped in worry instantly. "What?" Ginny asked. "Did I… am I moving too fast? Oh, Merlin–"

"Ginny," Astoria started. "I-I really don't know what to say. I haven't… 'fallen out of love' with Draco. I don't know if I'm in love with him, but…"

"But you're not in love with me."

"No," she whispered.

Ginny swallowed, tears swimming in her eyes. "So, I guess this won't continue," she choked out.

"No, I suppose it won't." The two sat in silence, the air thick with emotion, not looking at each other, tears carving their way down both women's cheeks. Finally, Astoria whispered, "I guess I'll go now."

She stood abruptly with a grating scrape of her chair, gathered her things hurriedly, and made her way out of the privacy charms with her head down. She walked quickly towards the door, not wanting to be stopped, and fled into the biting cold without hearing Ginny's whispered 'goodbye.'

 _~Fin~_


	6. Not Ready

**Written for the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Challenges and Assignments forum's Femslash February challenge, 365 Prompts challenge, and the Insane House challenge.**

 **Femslash February Prompt: 35. Mary/Marlene**

 **365 Prompts prompt: 118. Era-** **Marauders**

 **Insane House Challenge: 151. Location- Hogwarts**

 **Word Count: 780**

 **Enjoy!**

"This is a good idea, right?"

"Yes, Mary," Marlene repeated. "If anyone asks, they'll just have to deal with the fact that queer people exist in Hogwarts." She crossed over to the bed where her girlfriend sat and pulled her up by her hand. "We shouldn't have to hide any more than a straight couple."

"I know. It's not that I'm ashamed. I'm just… afraid."

"Of people saying things?" Mary bit her lip and nodded. "Well, my fists are in perfect condition, so if anyone tries something, I'll beat them up for you."

Mary rolled her eyes and smiled, only half sarcastic. "My hero," she said, placing her arms on Marlene's shoulders and kissing her girlfriend.

"Are you two about done yet?" Lily's annoyed voice came through the door.

"Yeah!" Mary called back, rolling her eyes again. She and Marlene walked to the door hand-in-hand before remembering themselves and letting go of each other. Mary opened the door before she could look at Marlene again and stepped out.

"Honestly, what do you two do in there?"

Mary shrugged. "We just want to make sure we look good."

Lily's eyes narrowed. "For who? Merlin, are you guys going on a double date?"

Marlene rolled her eyes. "No," she lied easily. "We just wanna look good for ourselves. Is that illegal?"

Lily held up her hands. "I didn't say anything." She stepped into the room and closed the door.

Mary rolled her eyes and the two went down the steps to the common room, where Remus and Sirius were waiting by the portrait hole. They were chatting casually, not an unusual occurrence, but Marlene could see the tension in their eyes and the shifting glances at their watches and at the stairs. The boys were just as nervous as they were.

"Shall we, boys?" Mary said.

"Finally. Where were you guys?" Sirius asked.

"Never you mind. Let's just go," Mary snapped, and opened the portrait hole, walking away without waiting for the rest of them.

"Is she alright?" Remus asked.

"She's… anxious," Marlene told them, running a hand through her curly, black hair nervously.

The boys nodded in understanding, and the three set off after Mary. After taking the usual path through the many hallways and stairs without seeing her, Marlene began to get worried. Once the trio made it outside, however, a silhouette that was undoubtedly Mary's could be seen a hundred meters ahead.

"I'm gonna go talk to her. We'll meet you at the Three Broomsticks," Marlene called behind her, jogging off to catch up with her girlfriend.

It took a while (Marlene was no athlete), but she finally managed to catch up to Mary. "Slow down," she said, huffing and puffing. Mary slowed her speed walk, but only slightly. "Hey," Marlene panted, "talk to me." These Muggle "jeans" were not made for running. "Mary!"

The girl in question stopped and whirled on her foot. "What?" she exclaimed.

Marlene took Mary's halt to her advantage, walking towards her until she stood in front of Mary, holding her hands. "What's wrong?"

Mary looked at the ground, her usually warm eyes narrowed and hard in anger or frustration, maybe both. "I… I…" She pulled her right hand away and ran it over her face, debating whether to say anything after all.

"You can tell me," Marlene said, moving her girlfriend's hand away from her face gently. "Hey, look at me." She tilted Mary's head up until they were eye-to-eye. "You can tell me anything."

"I'm not… I'm not ready."

"For what?" Marlene asked, perplexed.

"I'm not ready to come out." Mary sighed and returned her gaze to the stone pathway leading to Hogsmeade.

Marlene stared for a moment, and then rushed forward and hugged her girlfriend fiercely. Mary stiffened for a second and then melted into the embrace.

"It's alright," Marlene said soothingly, rubbing Mary's back.

"I feel like I've ruined our date."

"No, no," Marlene soother. "If you'd've told me, I wouldn't have insisted on doing this."

"You're not upset?"

"Merlin, no. It's perfectly alright to not want to come out. If you're not ready, you're not ready. I wouldn't pressure you into anything."

"Thank you," Mary whispered, laying her head on her girlfriend's shoulder.

"Of course, love. Anything."


	7. Accountable

**A/N: Written for the Houses Competition forum's Round 2 for Slytherin House as a drabble. Also written for the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry forum's Insane House challenge and their 365 prompts challenge.**

 **Houses Competition prompt: accidental magic**

 **Insane House prompt: 865. (trait) Brave**

 **365 prompts prompt: 210. (Plot point) calling a secret meeting**

 **Femslash February: Bellatrix/Alice**

 **Word count: 480**

 **Enjoy!**

September 3, 1981

"Bellatrix!"

She answered the call immediately. "Yes, my Lord?"

"Step into my office."

Bellatrix hastened to obey, and he layered the charms over the entrance once she stepped in. "How can I be of service, my Lord?" she asked, bowing deeply.

"I have a task for you," he said, a sick smile in his voice.

"Of course, my Lord."

"I want you to… keep an eye on Alice and Frank Longbottom and their son. If anything happens you will… hold them accountable."

Bellatrix froze. _Alice?_ For the first time in her life, Bellatrix could not contain her fear, and panic threatened to overwhelm her. She couldn't… Surely…

 _Calm down,_ she thought trying to get ahold of herself. This was only if "something happened" to his lordship, and he was at the height of his power… She wouldn't have to– to– Bellatrix shook her head and swallowed, unable to even think of the task he asked of her.

"Is there a problem, Bellatrix?" The Dark Lord's thinly-veiled threat brought her back to reality, where a vial had shattered on the floor. "You must control yourself. I trust you will be able to carry out the tasks I set you."

"Yes," she rasped.

"Good."

"But-but, you are at the height of your power. No one could possibly do anything... nothing could happen–"

He held up his hand and she fell silent at once. "These are merely precautions, Bella. You wouldn't doubt my capabilities, would you?"

"No, of course not. My Lord," she repeated, bowing again. "I shall… carry out the task exactly as you say."

He stared at her for a moment, and she cleared all thoughts from her mind. "Very well," he intoned. "You may leave."

* * *

October 31, 1981

She couldn't believe it. He was gone. He had… not died, but disappeared.

 _I want you to… keep an eye on Alice and Frank Longbottom and their son._

She hadn't thought she'd have to decide. He'd been the most powerful being in Britain, in the world even, and yet…

 _If something happens, you will… hold them accountable._

And Harry Potter was the one who'd bested him, not Alice's boy…

 _Hold them accountable…_

Yet, the cause was too important, much more so than a school dalliance. She and Alice had gone their separate ways. She had Frank, Bella had Rodolphus.

 _I shall carry out the task exactly as you say._

One last time, before she resigned herself, Bellatrix thought of Alice. She was so kind, so generous, so brave. She'd stuck by her beliefs in the face of torture, murder. In the end, that was what had driven them apart. That was the difference between them: Bella would always choose herself and her cause; Alice knew there were more important things. But the Dark Lord had to be avenged.

 _Goodbye, my dearest Alice._

The pop of Apparition sounded through the night.


	8. The Fae

**A/N: Written for the Golden Snitch forum's Where am I? What is that? What are you doing with your wand? challenge for Wampus house of the Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Also written for the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry forum's Femslash February challenge, their 365 Prompts Challenge, and their Insane House Challenge for Hufflepuff House.**

 **Prompts:**

 **Where am I? What is that? What are you doing with your wand?: Location– Ouagadougou. Object– Dark Detector. Spell– Geminio**

 **Femslash February: Tonks/Audrey**

 **365 Prompts: 154. (Item) blanket**

 **Insane House Challenge: 253. Scenario– Fair folk who sell potions at market stalls**

 **DISCLAIMER: Neither of the main characters are mine, and I got how people view fae from Wikipedia (XD). I also don't know if Audrey was a Muggle or not, but in this story, she's a witch.**

 **Word count: 2,657**

 **Also, the Place Mémorial aux Héros Nationaux is a real place in Ouagadougou! Get info here: www. burkinatourism Place-Memorial-aux-Heros-Nationaux. html**

 **Enjoy!**

 _January 28, 1999_

Audrey set down her backpack heavily on the steps of the Place Mémorial aux Héros Nationaux. She'd traveled to Ouagadougou over Christmas break to minimize the heat, but it was still quite warm, and her cough had not let up. She'd been walking all day from her hotel to see this landmark. According to her travel guide the monument "symbolizes the gratitude and the recognition of the Burkinabe people as well as the national unity." It really was an extraordinary sight. 55 meters high and 8,000 tons of steel. Wow.

She sat down to have a bite to eat. Audrey unzipped her backpack and munched on her packed lunch, a simple sandwich. As she gazed at the memorial, pausing to read certain facts and tidbits about it, she felt for the familiar solid bump in her backpack that meant her Dark Detector was there. She breathed out a sigh of relief. Though the war was over and had been in England, Voldemort's forces and beliefs had spread as quickly as the plague to reach all parts of the world. One could never be too careful.

Audrey had just been about to get up when she felt the lightest tap on her shoulder. Stiffening and putting her hand on her Detector. She turned and saw… not what she was expecting.

The woman was slim and rather short, with a shock of short, neon pink hair that peaked up on top of her head. She wore a roughly sewn, odd purple tunic of sorts, with soft green stockings over her legs. Her eyes were bright and mischievous, darting around quickly to search her surroundings. Her nose was tiny, thin, and pointed, and her mouth dainty. She carried a sort of messenger bag whose strap was slung across her shoulder and torso. And she was the most beautiful thing Audrey had ever seen.

She coughed. "Can-can I help you?"

"Would you like to buy a potion?" Her voice was silvery and light, tinted with a French accent that was so common in Ouagadougou (most people spoke French, after all).

"A what?"

"A potion."

Audrey gathered her wits about her. She was not the type of person to fall over someone she'd just met, even if said person's beauty had overpowered her at first. Her eyes narrowed. "What kind of potion?"

"Oh, I have lots. Hair potion, skele-gro, polyjuice, Felix Felicis–"

Audrey started with a jolt. Wasn't that illegal? She fumbled for her Detector and pointed it straight at the lady. Nothing.

"I knew you were a witch!" the woman exclaimed, though she looked ready to make a quick retreat.

"Keep your voice down!" Audrey whispered. "Of course I am. Why would you carry Felix Felicis on you, much less go around telling people about it?"

She laughed, a bright, warming sound. "I knew you were British!"

Audrey was taken aback. "What?"

"Your accent, and now you think Felix Felicis is illegal. Not here, silly. We have a permit."

"We?"

"Yes, me and my settlement. We go around Ouagadougou selling potions to people in need. You were coughing over here and I wondered if you might need something. I have pepperup."

"But– but aren't you breaking the International Statue of Secrecy?"

"The Muggles don't think anything of it. They try to report us, but we're much too quick for silly Muggle police," she giggled.

Audrey's eyes narrowed further. "What's your name?"

"Tonks," she said stoutly, holding out her hand to shake. Audrey didn't shake it, but she seemed undeterred. "And you are?"

Audrey glared and put away her Dark Detector rather than answer. "Can you take me to your… settlement?"

"Of course! We're at the market in the square a few blocks down, so we're going to have to walk a little. Are you sure you don't want that pepperup?"

"No," Audrey grouched. "Let's go then." She stood up clumsily, and the wo– Tonks grabbed her arm to steady her. Audrey inhaled sharply, almost leaning into the touch for a moment before pulling away huffily.

"Shall we?" Tonks asked once she was steady, and without waiting for an answer, skipped away at an incredibly fast pace. Audrey stood, dumbfounded as she watched the dot of pink hair in the crowd cut through the people; her bag didn't hinder her at all. After a moment, Tonks seemed to realize she wasn't being followed. She turned around and made it back to Audrey in no time. "Aren't you coming?" she asked, not a bit out of breath.

"How are you so fast?" Audrey asked.

"Oh, I forget to slow down when I'm walking with Muggles and witches." Before Audrey could process that comment, Tonks skipped off again, albeit slower this time. Audrey shouldered her bag quickly and followed in a trot.

Sweating and panting, Audrey finally made it to the market Tonks had run off to, only able to follow for the shock of bright pink making its way through the crowd. She bent over double, wheezing and coughing as she tried to catch her breath. Soon, there was a warm hand on her shoulder again.

"Are you okay? I'm terribly sorry; like I said, I forget to slow." She glanced worriedly at Audrey's flushed, sweaty face. "Let's get you to the settlement. You can lie down there."

Audrey was too out of breath to protest, so she had no choice but to follow Tonks. The market was busy and crowded, stalls lining every inch of the street, huge signs, in French, of course, advertising their wares. The vendors screamed at the crowd in French, presumably trying to attract more customers. People bartered and argued at the counters, and the air was filled with an unpleasant odor of sweat and vegetables. Being pulled by the hand by Tonks only quickened Audrey's heartbeat, and as looking at the commotion around her made her dizzy, she focused on the other woman instead. Her hair was only a bit out of place after running and being jostled by the crowd, but it revealed something Audrey had missed: Tonks had pointed ears, distinctively pointed ears. Audrey gasped, starting another coughing fit, but her discovery left her inattentive to that. Tonks was one of the fair folk.

Audrey had always been warned of the fair folk by the wizarding community. They were liars, tricksters, beings whose duty it was to cause wizards annoyance and pain. Protective charms and talismans were swapped in the halls of Hogwarts to ward against the fae, and the fae were the subject of many a scary bedtime or ghost story. Children heard warnings of how fae changed their appearance to look like beautiful humans so as to lure people to their deaths. Parents used the fair folk to scare their children into behaving. More adult tales told of gruesome captures or even murders. And here Audrey was, being dragged to a whole settlement of them.

How had she missed all the signs? The blatant disregard for wizard law, the hair, the looks, the very speed she ran… Tonks was making almost no effort to hide her identity; Audrey should have realized sooner. But Tonks's grip was unnaturally strong, and Audrey had no hope of escaping now. Besides, the running had worn her out and now she feared she was truly ill.

With Tonks's speed, they made it to the faes' settlement in no time. Backpacks littered the floor, presumably cast off after hours on end of selling dangerous potions. A mass of blankets was tangled in one corner, and Audrey figured that was where they slept. A huge cauldron took center stage in the middle of their camp, bubbling and steaming an spitting. An impossibly tiny fae man stood stirring it, while a line of fair folk bottled the last batch with impeccable accuracy and speed. Three fae stood behind a stall made of swirling, knotted wood, yelling at passersby. And for some reason (perhaps a charm) the air smelled strongly of honey.

Tonks led a now-stumbling Audrey over to the fae behind the cauldron. He began speaking angrily in rough, grating French, pointing with his stirring stick at Audrey. Tonks spoke back just as angrily, also gesturing to Audrey. As they argued, Audrey wondered, When did it get so cold?

Then, the two fae both fell quiet, and it seemed Tonks had made her point, because the man nodded his head jerkily to the side, indicating to follow him.

The two were led to the mass of blankets, and Tonks picked three out easily. She then brought Audrey over to a clean spot of ground and laid the blankets down. "Sleep here," she instructed.

"What? I'm not sleeping," Audrey said. "You-you're a fae!"

Tonks sighed. "Yes."

"Then why are you helping me?"

Tonks's eyes narrowed and her jaw clenched. For the first time, her anger was directed at Audrey and she was not willing to repeat the experience. "Not everything you British wizards hear about us is true, you know. In fact, almost none of it is. Now lay down, and I'm getting a few things to heal you." She stalked off, still fast as ever.

"But I'm not–" Audrey called after her before she was consumed by another coughing fit. …sick.

After the coughing subsided, Audrey sighed. She hasn't done anything to me yet, she reasoned. And I have my Detector. Besides, Tonks was too strong and fast for her to run away anyway.

Audrey made her way to the blankets and laid down, surprised to find that her head felt like it was filled with lead. She was so tired. Maybe if she just took a quick nap…

* * *

Audrey woke to someone abnormally strong shaking her shoulder. She groaned and batted it away. Slowly, her hearing came back to her. "Wake up! Wake up!"

She sat up with a gasp. _I am in Ouagadougou in a fae settlement and feel like shit. What's going on?_

Audrey opened her eyes to see neon pink clouding her vision. She scrambled back and saw Tonks leaning over her.

"What happened?" she slurred, wiping the sleep from her eyes.

"It's been two hours since I brought you here. You have bronchitis and a considerable fever. Drink this." A vial was shoved into Audrey's hand and the blurred form of Tonks scurried away.

Audrey felt around for her backpack and was surprised to find it right beside her. She took out her Detector and scanned the potion carefully. Nothing. It was just pepperup. Audrey downed it gratefully, and as her head cleared and her ear started smoking, she remembered what she'd said to Tonks. _Oh, Merlin._ She needed to apologize.

Tonks came back in a hurry, a vial of a murky green substance in her hand. She shoved it at Audrey without looking her in the eye. Audrey scanned it and it came up clean, once again. She sighed; she really needed to start trusting someone.

Tonks had stood and was about to walk away when Audrey called out her name. She came running back. "Is everything okay?"

"I'm sorry… about what I said about the fair folk. I was ignorant and unkind and you've been nothing but nice to me. So thank you."

Tonks's bright aura seemed to return almost immediately. "It's quite alright."

"Here, let's drink some pumpkin juice together," Audrey said, slowly getting a bottle and her wand from her bag. "Geminio," she cast with some difficulty and handed the first bottle to Tonks. They uncapped the bottles and drank.

"That is delicious," Tonks said, smiling. "Very sweet." They fell into a relaxed silence. Finally, Tonks asked, "Would you like to learn about us? The fair folk?"

Audrey shrugged. "I don't see why not. I'm not going anywhere."

Tonks smiled her blinding smile, and Audrey felt that everything would be okay again.

"Well, we originated long before wizards. We lived in harmony with the Muggles, trading food and water and magic with them, just coinciding peacefully. We, the fae, were ruled by a king, King Leffing. Before Leffing the fae and the Muggles were friendly, but we both kept to ourselves. Once the king grew to… well, I'll call it manhood, it was time for him to find a mate. None of the countless fae women who threw themselves before him caught his attention.

"But once, when he was in a Muggle village, he saw a woman so beautiful, he knew that she was the one who'd be his wife. Her name was Addison, and Leffing courted her, and they fell in love and got married, much to the chagrin of much of the fae and Muggle communities. But they soon accepted the union, and fae and Muggles lived in harmony.

"Then, it was time to produce an heir. Queen Addison soon was with child, and a baby girl, named Princess Evelyn was born. They had no way of knowing whether she would contain magic from her father or be a Muggle like her mother. Instead, she was neither. King Leffing of the fae and Queen Addison of the Muggles had created a new race: that of wizards. Evelyn grew to be a mighty and powerful queen, and slowly, the fae and Muggles began to integrate, and more witches and wizards were born.

"But Evelyn grew jealous of all the rest of the wizards and the fae. She aspired to be the sole holder of magical power, and she allied with the Muggles who had not chosen to spread magical genes to more humans. She started a great War, long and bloody and brutal, and when the dust settled, the Muggles and Evelyn were victorious. The fae were drawn into hiding, and rumors, such as the ones you are acquainted with, spread about us.

"King Leffing and Queen Addison were among the sole survivors on the side of the fae, and they conceived another child: Princess Layla. Layla created an Order of the Fae, which recruited those Muggles who were still willing to fight Evelyn. Those two cultures integrated, and after thirty years, an army of witches, wizards, fae, and allied Muggles attacked Evelyn's forces. They took over her castle and won.

"The wizards who fought in this second War created a kingdom of wizards, but soon, after only two generations of wizards, they too grew hungry for more power. These wizards overthrew King Leffing and Queen Addison and created a wizard-dominated society, determined on eradicating all Muggles and fae," Toks finished quietly.

"But-but," Audrey sputtered, going into another coughing fit. Tonks eased her coughing immediately with another concoction. "Thank you," Audrey croaked. "But the wizards originated from the fae."

"There are too many who remain ignorant. People who talk of 'pure-blooded wizards' are spouting nonsense; their race would not exist if not for the mixing of magical and non-magical blood."

"We never learned any of this in History of Magic," Audrey mused.

"'History of Magic?'" Tonks asked.

"In our schooling, our education," Audrey explained, still thinking. "No one is ever taught. Thank you. For teaching me."

"You're quite welcome," Tonks said, smiling, filling Audrey's body with warmth. Audrey smiled too and gave a little cough. "You need rest," Tonks observed. She rose easily from her position. "Sleep well," she said and gave Audrey a kiss on the forehead.

Audrey stiffened as the warm lips touched her brow, and then revelled in the feeling of warmth that spread throughout her body, the one that Tonks seemed to bring with her everywhere she went. And then Tonks was gone.

Tonks had walked ten steps back toward the settlement when she froze. What had she done? Neither fae nor humans were very straightforward with their romantic intentions. And Audrey had just learned that she was harmless mere minutes ago. What would she think now?

Little did Tonks know, Audrey was already sleeping soundly, the… almost loving kiss on her forehead having soothed her worries and put her straight into a blissful sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Written for the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Challenges and Assignments forum's 365 Prompts Challenge and the forum's Insane House Challenge.**

 **365 Prompts Challenge:**

 **House: Hufflepuff**

 **Prompt: 1. Babysitting**

 **Insane House Challenge:**

 **House: Hufflepuff**

 **Prompt: 103. Neville/Theo**

"Please?"

"No," Theo whined. "You can't make me."

"It's only for the afternoon," Neville reasoned.

"Yeah, a whole afternoon. What am I gonna do with a kid for a whole afternoon? Much less Potter's kid?"

"I don't know; you'll figure it out. Kids James's age aren't that hard to entertain," Neville said, checking his watch. "Oh, he's due to Floo over any minute. And I'm gonna be late if I don't leave right after."

Right on cue, the fireplace flared green, and a familiar, messy-haired figure stumbled to his feet ungracefully.

Harry Potter stood in their living room, brushing soot off his robes and onto their hearth. After a minute, he seemed to remember where he was, and looked up sheepishly at the two men. "Sorry. Are we late?"

"Nope, you're just on time," Neville said, smiling warmly at his friend.

"Neville!" The two clasped hands. "Great to see you, mate. Sorry this is on such short notice."

"It was no problem at all. Theo and James will get along just fine. Right?" he asked his boyfriend, looking pointedly.

"Oh, um yeah," Theo said, though he couldn't disagree more. "Er, hi, Potter."

"Nott." Potter nodded.

"So, um, where is uh… James?"

"He's a little shy; he's right here." For the first time, Theo noticed that Potter's hand was still behind his back. Potter moved it to his side to reveal a small three-year-old clutching onto his father's hand like a lifeline. His reddish-brown, curly hair and big, brown eyes could have fooled many into cooing over the "innocent" child in seconds, but not Theo. This was Potter's kid after all– he couldn't be entirely harmless.

Neville gave Theo a nudge and he stumbled forward to come face-to-face with the kid– or, face-to-leg, rather (the kid was pretty short). Hesitantly, Theo held out his hand and said, "We're gonna be good friends, right mate?" He prevented himself from cringing. What did one say to their ex-enemy's three-year-old?

Surprisingly, Potter gave his son a little nudge and whispered, "Go on."

The child hesitantly stepped forward and said, "I'm James. What's your name?"

"My name's Theo. You're gonna stay with me for a bit while your dad works."

The kid looked hesitant for a minute, and glanced back frightenedly at his dad. Potter sighed and crouched down next to him. "I will be back in four hours."

"But that's a lot!"

"I know, but you're a big boy, and you can make new friends, right?"

"Yes, daddy."

"Good." He ruffled the boy's hair, gave him a hug, and stood. "Well, I really should be going." And he threw a pinch of powder into the fireplace and disappeared.

"I should be going as well," Neville said.

"Have fun at your meeting," Theo said, and gave him a quick kiss.

"That's likely. Take good care of the kid."

Theo rolled his eyes. "I know."

The Floo flared green and Neville was gone. It was just Theo and James.

"So… what do you want to do?" Theo asked.

"Can we color?"

"Uh, sure. Let me get some crayons." Theo gave the child one last suspicious glance over his shoulder before he disappeared down the hallway to find crayons. The things I do for you, Neville…

Meanwhile, back in the living room, James was smiling. Daddy wasn't going to be back for four hours. He had a lot of mischief to make.

* * *

Neville found Harry easily after his conference, and they flooed to the house together. The overturned furniture, paint-splattered floor, torn clothes, James's grin, and Theo's heavy breathing and furious glare (the effect was somewhat lessened by his messy hair sticking up in all directions) said everything they needed to know.


	10. Bushy the Nogtail

**Written for the Houses Competition forum for Slytherin house as a drabble for round 3. Also written for the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry forum's Insane House challenge and their 365 prompts challenge.**

 **Prompts:**

 **Houses Competition: 3. Nogtail**

 **Insane House Challenge: 29. Fabian Prewett**

 **365 Prompts: 243. (relationship) siblings**

 **Word count: 493**

Bushy snuffled and shifted. He watched the man leave his motorcycle and walk away to talk to the woman. He snorted, and if nogtails could roll their eyes he would have. Humans were so predictable. One last time, he glanced left and right, making sure no humans saw him. And then Bushy ran.

He took a running leap off the slippery pavement and landed square on the seat of the bike. His hooves were just able to reach the footrests and once he was settled the bike took off like a shot.

He was flying, soaring through the air like he'd always wanted. Bushy had always wanted to be on a human bike, and now his dreams had been fulfilled. But what was this? The bike's handle was sticky! The stupid human hadn't washed the bike! Well, there was only one thing for it.

Bushy scanned the sidewalks until he saw a car wash. He steered wildly and pulled to a screeching halt in the driveway. The humans stared at him, unable to believe what was in front of their eyes. _Stupid humans_. Bushy sped ahead into a dark cave-like space. Huge brushes descended upon him, scrubbing him with bubbly water. What on earth? Bushy squealed, but no one helped him. He was rinsed down with yet more water, and carried into a chamber with gusting winds that dried him off in no time. Finally, the human machine spit him out. The nogtail shook himself off, unnerved by the experience. But his bike was now clean! Before the stunned humans could try to stop him, he gunned the motor and the bike took off once more.

* * *

Fabian woke with a start. _What the hell?_ He shook his head.

"Hey, brother. You alright?"

He focused on the space in front of him and recognized the sterile hospital wing. On his right, his twin, Gideon sat by the side of the bed and his sister Molly was on his left.

"But there was a nogtail… and a motorcycle…" _What had happened?_

"Madame Pomfrey!" Molly cried. "He's spouting nonsense! What's wrong with him?"

The matron came bustling over, waving her wand and reading the information that appeared in front of her. "He seems alright, just a little shaken up. He'll be fine and ready to go in a day or two."

"But what happened?" Fabian asked. "There was a motorcycle right there…" He pointed faintly.

Madame Pomfrey smiled at him empathetically. "Ah yes, well, sometimes hallucinations can occur when this happens. You'll remember what happened in a bit, the potion just needs to get out of your system."

"What potion?"

"You were slipped a heavily diluted version of a Draught of Living Death, dear," Pomfrey said somberly. "When you can remember the next few days, which will happen, I promise, we can be on our way to catching the culprit. For now, just rest."

She walked away and in a few minutes, Fabian did just that.


	11. Chapter 11

**Written for the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry forum's Femslash February challenge, their 365 prompts challenge, and their Insane House Challenge.**

 **Femslash February prompt: Millicent/Luna**

 **365 Prompts prompt: 13. Taking down Christmas decorations**

 **Insane House prompt: 3. Spell- Incarcerous**

 **Word count: 1,630**

 **Warning: This has one (censored) derogatory slur for people with mental disabilities. This is not meant to offend anyone in any way, this is only to convey the cruelty of much of the middle- and high-school aged population. Though now, many people are much more considerate, some children can be quite ignorant and cruel. Again, this is not meant to offend anyone.**

Though she wouldn't have admitted it to anyone (not that she had anyone to admit it to), Millicent was thrilled to be back at school. All that was waiting for her at home was her stone-cold father and mother and equally as distant sisters. They only cared about who they'd entertain next and how that would affect the family's "image". While her siblings were charming and graceful and flirty with strangers, the mood inside of the Bulstrode house was akin to a prison, but, as her mother said, no one needed to know that. Little did her parents know Millicent could care less about image. She was quiet, surly to anyone who deserved it, and kept to herself. She intimidated anyone she didn't want to be in the presence of (which was quite a lot of people), and that kept her surrounded by the only people she did like– no one. Which was why she was surprised when she found she could tell herself she didn't… dislike the idea of seeing her again.

Her being Luna Lovegood.

The first time Millicent had found her was after Christmas. The shorter girl had been busy taking down Christmas decorations. Without shoes. In the dungeons. Not usual behavior, but then again this was Luna Lovegood.

Normally, Millicent wouldn't make an effort to talk to anyone engaging in such odd practices, but, as usual, Luna had her own plans.

"Hello!" she'd called out, in a light, airy voice. "How are you today?"

Inwardly, Millicent balked. Who would ever say that to her, Millicent Bulstrode? Why would someone ever say that to her?

But, for some unknown reason, Millicent had looked back at her and said, "I'm alright."

"You look like you could do with some Christmas spirit," she'd had the audacity to reply. Millicent whirled and for the first time, she noticed Luna's eyes were a striking, electric blue. "Unfortunately, I'm just taking down the decorations now."

"Why do that when House Elves are here?"

"They like to leave them up a while longer for the cheery atmosphere, but I find that Professor Snape doesn't enjoy them a bit, especially not in his dungeons. He becomes less friendly this time of year, anyway."

Again, Millicent balked. As if Snape could ever be friendly any time of the year. "So, you're doing this… to be nice to … Snape?"

"Mhm," she answered brightly, and looked up. Again, Millicent saw clear, vibrant blue staring down at her kindly. "Would you like to join me? You look like you don't much care for Christmas decorations either."

Like she didn't care for– Had this girl ever seen her before? "No, I suppose I don't care for Christmas decorations."

"So, I'll take that as a yes, then." And the girl reached out and took her hand and pulled her towards the ladder.

Luna climbed the ladder with agile skill and began taking down paper chains, but Millicent stood still, staring at her hand, dumbfounded.

"Aren't you going to help?" she'd called.

Millicent shook her head as if to clear it. "You… grabbed my hand." Why was Millicent acting so weird about this?

"Well, you didn't look like you were going to come over here yourself. You're quite surly, didn't you know?"

She huffed. "I'm aware." And, for another unknown reason, Millicent had held out her hand and put the chains in a box and worked with Luna, chatting almost happily for almost a whole hour. It must have been the eyes.

And now, her jaw set and her eyes hard as usual to ward people away, Millicent was walking down the hallway briskly to meet Luna– for the fourth time. Her sweet personality and unwavering cheerfulness had broken through Millicent's hard exterior. The thick layer of uncaring, brutal melancholy would successfully make sane people keep their distance, but Luna hadn't ever given a sign that she'd found Millicent anything less than pleasant. And not many people would ever think to call Millicent Bulstrode pleasant.

Luna also had an odd physical effect on her. Millicent had actually smiled once. She couldn't remember the last time that had happened out of genuine joy, rather than watching a first year fall over in the hallway. Whenever they were together, Millicent could feel her heart speed up, her palms become sweaty, and her breath short. She had begun to watch what she did, how she acted, what she said, and it had slowly dawned upon her that it was important what Luna thought of her. Yes, the blonde's opinion mattered quite a lot to Millicent. How was this possible? Millicent prided herself on not caring what anyone thought of her at any time; worrying about that sort of thing only led to insecurity and unhappiness, and prevented you from doing things you wanted to do. Luna's effect on Millicent was inexplicable. If she talked to any of her acquaintances (for Millicent didn't not have "friends"), they'd tell her to quit hanging around Luna. But something about her made Millicent drawn to her, and she felt that if she'd have to stop seeing the blonde, she might go mad. Was this normal? Perhaps she was already mad.

All of this raging around her head, it took Millicent longer than usual to realize she'd arrived at her destination, and, more importantly, Luna wasn't there. For some reason, this made Millicent very nervous.

Millicent wandered the halls anxiously, her wand gripped in her hand. And then she heard voices.

"Well, look who it is!"

"Loony Lovegood!"

"Off to boil some plimpies, Loony?"

"Going on a hunt for a crumple-horned snorkack, maybe? Because they definitely exist."

"You might not believe, but that just goes to show how you think," Luna's cool voice cut through the sneers and Millicent's pulse quickened.

"And how's that?"

"That you're just too narrow-minded to see anything unless it's shoved in front of your face."

There was a pause. "What'd you say to me, you r*****?"

"Apparently your ears are as bad as your brain. Do you have a lot of wrackspurts around?"

"Incarcerous!"

"Oppugno!"

There was a clatter, a crash, and then screams and laughter. Millicent raced toward the scene, wand out. She found herself in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. About five girls stood around the grimy, circular sink, laughing and pointing at a scene Millicent couldn't see. She shoved her way to the front. Luna was shrieking, trying to fend off an onslaught of books, remembralls, and various other things from the girls' bags as they attacked her. Luna's wand was drawn and she was slashing it through the air crazily, but it didn't do any good.

Millicent roared and spun. The girls smirked; she was badly outnumbered. But Millicent wasn't a Slytherin for nothing, and she was faster than she looked. Casting a nonverbal shield charm around herself, Millicent neatly stupefied the five as they stared at the spells that merely bounced off of the Slytherin. She cast finite incantatem and the objects attacking Luna fell lifelessly to the floor. The bonds of the girls' binding charm disappeared.

Millicent bent down to check that the girls were really knocked out. She caught sight of the House crests on their robes and noted that all but one of them belonged to Ravenclaw. She hadn't expected any to be in Slytherin; the snakes stuck together and an attack on one was a mistake too stupid for any of her housemates to make, for revenge would be too easy. But these girls had went after one of their own– Millicent made a note to be wary of Ravenclaws in the future.

Finally, Millicent turned to Luna. The girl's hair was a mess, the strands hanging haphazardly out of her usual neat bun. She was dirty and sweaty and her body was covered in scratches and bruises from the books' barrage. The normally dreamy expression was replaced with a dejected, defeated one and she breathed heavily.

"Are you alright?" Millicent asked quietly.

Luna looked up with a start. "Oh, I'm okay. You know, they're just…" She flapped her hand as if it explained her attackers' behavior.

"They're just what?"

"That's just what they like to do, it happens sometimes, it's no big deal…"

"'It happens sometimes'? You mean this has happened before?"

"Yeah, you know what people think of me," Luna said lowly, not making eye contact. "They think I'm…"

"Crazy." Millicent cringed the moment she said it.

"Yeah." She gave a shuddering sigh. "I guess you think that too, huh? Loony Lovegood and all?"

Millicent's chest ached. "No, I don't. I… quite like you, in fact. I don't have a lot of… friends."

"Me neither," Luna said excitedly, a bit of her old optimism creeping into her voice. She looked up hopefully, and Millicent saw that her big blue eyes were swimming with tears. "Do you think we could be…"

"Friends? Sure."

Luna laughed and wiped her eyes. "I'd like that."

"Me too." Millicent reached out her hand and pulled Luna up. "And I'll make sure those girls never bother you ever again."

"You'd do that for me?"

Millicent looked down and felt her cheeks grow red. "'Course."

She glanced up to see Luna with a huge grin on her face. "Thank you." She stood on her tiptoes and kissed Millicent softly. Her lips were soft and warm and tasted of… honey?

Luna pulled away and looked down at the floor as well, rocking back and forth on her feet. "Sorry. I don't know why I did that."

"It's alright. I don't mind."

"Really?"

"Not at all."

Luna smiled again, and a ball of warmth unfurled in Millicent's stomach. They stood next to each other in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom of all places, before Luna asked shyly, "Will you walk me back to my common room?"

Millicent smiled. "I'd like that."


	12. A Tornado, a Flooded Sink, and a Date

**Written for the Houses Competition forum for Slytherin House as a short story for round 3. Also written for the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry forum's Femslash February challenge, their Insane House Challenge, and their 365 Prompts challenge for Hufflepuff House.**

 **Prompts:**

 **Houses Competition: 10. (weather) tornado**

 **Femslash February: 18. Marlene/Hestia**

 **Insane House: 261. Scenario- What do you mean we're under a tornado warning?**

 **365 Prompts: 166. (job) barista**

 **Word count: 981**

 _"There is a EF4 tornado warning folks, repeat: there is an EF4 tornado warning. This tornado is classified as violent and intense and people are ordered to stay inside at all cost. Please stock up on non-perishable food, water, flashlights, batteries, and battery-operated communication devices. It is predicted that almost everyone in London and the surrounding areas will lose electricity for as many as four days. For those just tuning in there is a EF4 tornado warning…"_

Sheldon, their manager, sighed and turned off the radio. "Well, you heard him. We'll all have to hole up in here until this storm passes."

A collective groan passed through the crowd of workers at the Roadside Coffee Shop. Hestia turned to look at the crew she'd be spending the next few days with. A bunch of annoyed high schoolers frustrated to be stuck in at their day jobs, her cranky manager, a few of the waiters and waitresses, and… Marlene. Hestia sighed. This was going to be a long few days.

Hestia had harbored a crush on the second, silent barista of her shift since they'd first met. They'd barely exchanged words since Hestia had taken the job a few months ago, but as soon as she'd seen her, Hestia had fallen into a spiral of infatuation. Marlene's long dark, curly locks hid most of her face, but the few glimpses of her Hestia had gleaned from working with her had revealed beautifully sculpted features, ruby red lips, and striking brown eyes that darted around constantly, absorbing the world with keen attention.

As Sheldon began giving out orders, Hestia glanced at Marlene. She listened to the manager's orders attentively as usual, yet her eyes flitted around the shop, cataloging… something. Hestia had the feeling Marlene was much smarter and knew much more than she let on.

"Hestia," Sheldon called, making her snap to attention, "you'll have time to stare into space later." Unnoticed by the rest, Hestia blushed heavily. "I want you to fill up as many containers as you can with water as soon as possible."

Nodding, Hestia went straight to the back, noting out of her peripheral vision that Marlene was heading toward the storage closet. _Stop it, Hestia, we are preparing for a_ tornado. _Maybe focus on keeping everyone alive?_

Once she reached the sinks, the first thing Hestia saw was the recycling. Countless customers had thrown their used Vitamin Water, Gatorade, and other drinks bottles into the blue bin. Good enough. Hestia set about washing them, letting her mind wander as she fell into a rhythm of scrubbing and rinsing.

Finally, Hestia realized she was done with all the bottles when she reached into the recycling bin and found herself snatching at empty air. She turned the water on the coldest setting and placed one of the biggest bottles under the faucet, leaning her head on her arm to wait. And, as was prone to happen to one waiting for water to fill something, Hestia got bored.

She snuck a glance behind her and saw Marlene by the windows. Everyone else was absorbed in their jobs, including Sheldon…

Hestia snuck away from the sink and slunk towards Marlene.

"Hey."

The sudden announcement of her presence didn't startle Marlene at all. She didn't even flinch. Marlene had been sticking strips of… duct tape to the windows? What was that about? The dark-haired girl finished the strip she was putting up before slowly turning her head to acknowledge Hestia. "Yes?"

"Oh, um…" Now that she was actually talking to the girl, Hestia had no idea what to say. "I just wanted to ask you… what you were doing. With the windows?" She gestured pointlessly to the very obvious windows she was talking about and wanted to curl into a ball. _Ugh. Great start._

"I'm taping them," Marlene replied simply.

"May I ask why?"

"So that they don't shatter as easily," she said coolly. "I lived in France for a while, and we got a lot of twisters there."

"That's neat," Hestia said, latching onto the conversation topic desperately as Marlene turned back to the windows. "What was it like in France, besides the, you know, tornadoes? I've never been." _Liar._ Hestia's grandmother lived in France and they visited every year.

"It was alright. Great food. Not so great weather."

"I'm Hestia, by the way," Hestia said, holding out her hand to shake.

"I know," she replied, ripping a long strip of duct tape off. "We work together."

"Yes, we do, it's just I didn't know if you remembered."

"I did."

"Yes, well…" This girl was a bit impossible. "I was wondering if you'd like to kind of… talk more. I feel like we've worked for too long not to know each other better."

"If you want to ask me out, you should just say so," Marlene told her easily. "Also, you should get back to your water. It seems to have filled the entire sink already."

Hestia whirled to face the sink and saw that it was indeed overflowing in her absence. She turned back to Marlene and gaped, not noticing the slightest of smirks on the girl's face. Cheeks flushing with embarrassment, Hestia took that as her cue to leave, and hurried off to deal with the water when she heard a much more hesitant, shyer voice call, "Take me for dinner at 7 on Friday?"

She turned back around. Marlene was still facing the window, but she'd gone completely still and Hestia could hear her breathing a little too heavily to be normal. She grinned and called back, "Definitely."

Turning back to the water, this time with a huge grin on her face, Hestia didn't see Marlene glance back bashfully with a small smile. But she did see a livid Sheldon with a purple face steaming by the sinks.

The grin slid off her face like mud. _Oh crap._


	13. Happy Queer Family

**Written for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry forum's Femslash February Challenge, their Insane House Challenge, and their 365 Prompts Challenge for Hufflepuff House.**

 **Femslash February: 37. Hermione/Audrey**

 **Insane House Challenge: 15. (character) Albus Severus Potter**

 **365 Prompts: 263. (sexuality) gay**

 **Word count: 1,932**

Albus walked up the front steps to the door, shivering in the cold. He sighed and watched his warm breath drift up in the air like smoke, calming him for the task at hand. For the umpteenth time, he wondered if this was really a good idea. So many things could go wrong. It would be rather illogical, but the fear sat, not completely without reason, nonetheless. _This is stupid,_ Albus thought to himself. _You're stalling and you've been over this a million times. There is no way Aunt Hermione will react badly. No way. You just have to go in and say it._

This would be the first time he had ever told anyone, much less said it out loud. He'd come to an agreement with himself, but still, he felt that if he released the words into the air, into a place outside his mind, where he couldn't fool himself into thinking it was all in his head, it would solidify the notion as fact. Albus pictured the words coming out of his mouth.

 _"I'm gay."_

 _Well, there it is,_ he told himself. _That's all you have to say. Two words._

He raised his fist, and before he could think twice, knocked on the door.

After a few tense seconds, the door was opened to reveal Albus's Aunt Audrey. Her long, dark hair was braided down her back and the wool sweater and cup of cocoa in her hand told him that she and Aunt Hermione were having a relaxed lie in. Good. The atmosphere needed to be as relaxed as possible.

"Albus! Come in, come in! Hermione, Albus is here!" Audrey called to the living room. "You por thing, have you been standing out there long?"

"No, I'm fine," Albus muttered, allowing himself to be shepherded into the warm, spice-scented house. He felt himself take his coat off and exchange pleasantries; a cup of cocoa was pressed into his hand. The slight burn of the hot mug brought Albus back to reality. He was really going to do it. He was really going to come out. Was he crazy? Already, his palms were clammy.

"Albus!" He felt his face buried in a shoulder and smothered with thick, curly hair and he knew Aunt Hermione had come up to hug him. He returned the embrace as best he could. "How nice to see you!" She pulled him toward the couch. "It's a bit of a surprise to see you here because Harry or Ginny usually floo, but it's perfectly alright. What can I do for you?" She turned the television, which had been playing an episode of Sherlock, off and turned to him. "Finally realized Audrey and I are cooler than your parents?"

Despite the horrible attempt at a joke, Albus smiled. He was with Aunt Hermione. He could relax. He took a sip of cocoa, but didn't taste anything.

"I… actually came to talk to you guys about a more… sensitive topic."

"Not that I mind at all, but you couldn't go to your parents?" Hermione asked, setting down her cocoa.

"Well, they wouldn't really be able to um… understand as well as you, I don't think." Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Well, um… the thing is…" Albus ducked his head, feeling his heart race and his breathing get shallow. He set his cocoa down too so he could fidget with his hands.

"Albus, whatever it is, you can tell me," Hermione said softly, looking at her nephew in concern.

Albus tried to swallow, but his throat was dry. He breathed in and out. Come on. You can do this. Two words. "I um…" His voice died out and he could feel not only Aunt Hermione's eyes, but Aunt Audrey's as well; they seemed to bore holes in his head. The expectant silence was deafening.

Finally, Albus took a breath again. Two words. "I– I'm gay."

He stared directly at his shoes in anticipation of the reactions, frozen as ice. Then Aunt Hermione and Aunt Audrey both let out breaths and almost all of the tension deflated.

"Well that's a relief," Hermione said loudly. "I was beginning to get really worried there."

There were so many things he wanted to ask. _What do you think? Is this normal? Am I normal? Will you tell everyone?_ But instead, his mouth decided to say, "That's the first time I've said it out loud before. To anyone."

"Well, you didn't think we'd have a problem with it, did you?" Audrey asked. His cheeks reddened. "Albus, I don't know if you've noticed, but Hermione and I have been married for the past _nine years_. I'm pretty sure we're not homophobic." He let out a shaky laugh.

"Oh, lay off the boy," Hermione said. "That's why he came to us first, am I right?" Albus nodded. "We don't mean to make too light of it, but honestly, were you really that scared?" Another nod.

"It was bloody terrifying," he muttered.

"We're not saying it wasn't," Hermione told him soothingly. "We just want you to know that you have a very loving, accepting family who will support you no matter what."

"Even my dad?"

"Why would you worry about your dad?" Hermione asked. "He hasn't said something, has he?"

"No," Albus said. "We just…"

"Haven't had the best relationship in the past," Hermione finished. Albus nodded yet again. "Well, I want you to know you have nothing to fear from him. Your dad might not always understand you, but he loves you so very much. He'd never do anything to hurt you intentionally."

"I know," Albus said quietly.

Aunt Audrey came and sat next to her nephew and the three sat silently for a minute, all contemplating their thoughts.

"Would you like to know how I came out to your father?" Hermione asked abruptly.

"Yes, please," Albus said, surprised to find that he actually wanted to know very much.

"It was… what, four years after the war? So it was 2002. Your father and mother were dating at the very least, perhaps they were engaged– yes, I think they were engaged actually– and it was Valentine's day. I remember that. I was feeling quite sentimental because I had no one to spend it with and Harry and Ginny were obviously in love, and my friends were constantly asking me when I'd get a boyfriend. It annoyed me to no end that I couldn't tell them that I didn't _want_ a boyfriend, but I was much too scared to come out, as I didn't know how homosexuality was viewed in the wizarding world. After a while that night, we'd all gone to a bar and I was rather tipsy. Ginny came over and… I just spilled. I told her. She was a bit surprised, but not unsupportive in the least. And then it was kind of over. Except once I'd started coming out, I couldn't stop."

"What d'you mean?" Albus asked curiously.

"I meant I just wouldn't stop telling people 'I'm gay. I'm so gay. Hey, you! Oi! I'm a lesbian!'" she called, imitating her drunk self.

Albus couldn't help it; he cracked up, and so did Aunt Audrey. Through his giggles, he gasped, "And then what happened?"

"Well, I just got louder and louder until the whole bar was staring at me. Harry and Ron knew by then, of course. They were shocked, but they've always been nothing if not a bit unobservant. Eventually they came to terms with it, and that didn't long. A few days later, when I was _much_ more sober, they both kind of asked me some questions: how long I'd known, why I didn't tell them before, etcetera, etcetera. But the most important thing was, they were really accepting and really caring. I promise you when I say you have nothing to fear. I'm not saying it won't be terrifying, but you'll feel a lot better in the end."

"You won't tell them, will you?" Albus asked nervously.

"No. That's your information to tell."

"Okay. Thank you, both of you. This… means a lot."

"Of course. We'll always support you."

Albus leaned back into the soft sofa. He took his cup back into his hands and took a sip, actually tasting the smooth, sweet liquid run down his throat, calming him. Aunt Hermione was right. Coming out did make you feel so much better; he felt liberated, free from keeping such a large part of him a secret.

"Look at us," Aunt Audrey said. "A happy queer family."

Albus laughed contentedly. "Yeah, I suppose we are. Feels nice."

"It does, doesn't it?" Aunt Hermione said, and again they fell back into silence, though much more relaxed this time.

"So, do you like any boys?" Audrey asked, breaking the silence.

Albus choked on his sip of cocoa and Hermione swatted at her wife. "Merlin, Audrey, is there no respect for privacy?"

"I'm just saying; I realized I was gay when I got my first crush on a girl," she defended herself, holding her hands up.

Meanwhile, Albus had not said a word, choosing to stare at the carpet resolutely rather than join the conversation, his face red as a tomato.

Aunt Hermione gasped. "You do have a crush! On who?"

Albus coughed. "I'd really rather not say…"

But once his Aunt Hermione wanted to find something, she would not relent until she got what she wanted. "Come on, tell us tell us tell us…"

"Fine!" Albus snapped, half annoyed and half amused. "It's um... "

"Go on," Audrey encouraged.

"Scorpius."

His aunts paused for a minute before looking at each other. Their laughter didn't stay suppressed for even a second.

"What? What is it?" Albus asked indignantly, his face feeling as if it would ignite into flames.

"Oh," Hermione gasped, "you've fallen into the Deadly Trap. There are only two ways out."

"It's inescapable," Audrey choked out, snickering. "You've fallen for your best friend."

Albus groaned.

"That's the first step: recognition. Next is acceptance," Hermione joked.

"Step three is to find out if he's queer as well," Audrey continued, growing serious. "Then you have to ask him out–"

"Do I?" Albus groaned.

"Yes. Now listen, child, I speak from experience."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Do you now?"

"Not now dear, it's a story for another time," Audrey said easily, deflecting her wife's accusing look. "From there one of two things will happen: he will like you back and you'll get together; yay! Or, he won't like you back and you must terminate what would otherwise be a painfully awkward friendship. This also happens if he is not, in fact, queer."

"You make asking him out seem so easy," Albus groaned.

"Or you could just shove your feelings down in a painful ball of misery and despair, but we won't let you do that. This has been a brief tutorial on the Crush-on-Your-Best-Friend Dilemma."

"Merlin, you people are insane."

"It comes with the role of your aunts," Hermione said proudly.

"And while we're at it," Audrey continued, "there is something you should know about: safe se–"

"And that's my cue to leave," Albus said hurriedly, his face heating up again. He set down his cocoa and grabbed his coat, pulling it on as he opened the door. "Goodbye!" he called against Audrey's protests and Hermione's scoldings. Shutting the door, he was enveloped by the silent cold of winter once again.

Albus stared at the snow-covered street, the houses picturesque, like a Christmas card. As he gazed at the scene, he couldn't help thinking that Aunt Hermione was right, as always: coming out did feel good.


	14. Chapter 14

**Written for the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Challenges and Assignments forum's Femslash February challenge, their Insane House Challenge, and their 365 prompts challenge. All for Hufflepuff House.**

 **Femslash February: 7. Lavender/Pansy**

 **Insane House: (Relationship) lovers**

 **365 Prompts: (Dialogue) "Aren't I enough for you?"**

 **Word count: 945**

"He's right there! Somebody grab him!"

Lavender stared, shocked, at none other than Pansy Parkinson, who'd yelled the command. Was she really so heartless? Did Lavender know her at all?

Her head whirling, Lavender rose with the other three quarters of the school, facing Pansy and her House with a grave stare of defiance. Lavender made eye contact with the black-haired girl, and her wary, brown orbs flashed with betrayal. Pansy's obsidian eyes bore into hers, not willing to back down, hurt and angry that Lavender could possibly be angry with her at a time like this.

As McGonagall's sharp voice announced the departure of the Slytherins, the air around her was filled with the satisfied roars of Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw. Lavender didn't join in, but only gave a hint of a smirk. The anger left Pansy's eyes, leaving only hurt.

Duties were asssigned to the remaining students, and in the chaos, Lavender slipped down to the dungeons unnoticed. She saw a line of seventh years being marched down a gloomy corridor, Pansy among them, looking openly dejected. Lavender hid herself in an alcove, and when the group passed, pulled Pansy into it. The girl let out a shriek, but it was quickly cut off by Lavender's hand covering her mouth.

They stayed perfectly still and silent until they were sure no one would come down the corridor again. Lavender slowly lifted her hand from her girlfriend's mouth.

Pansy whirled on her. "What the bloody hell was that for?! I thought someone was kidnapping me!"

"What was that for? As if you don't know! How dare you offer up the one hope we have to Him?"

"If he'd just sacrifice himself, no one would have to die. But he's just too selfish to do that and would rather let his comrades sacrifice themselves instead, I suppose," Pansy sniffed, turning up her nose.

"Everyone chose to fight," Lavender said through gritted teeth. "We all chose to fight alongside him, for freedom and justice. Harry is nothing like what you say! He doesn't want this!"

"Well, why didn't he just give himself up?!"

"Are you insane?! And give up the only chance we have of defeating Him?!"

"He's seventeen, just like you and me! He couldn't possibly defeat Him, and if you believe that, you're delusional!"

"Delusional, am I?" Lavender snarled, practically snorting in rage. "Is it so delusional to believe we can win if enough of us fight? Is it delusional to believe we can rebuild a world of equality and justice and peace? Is it delusional that me and hundreds of others want to do everything we can and fight with all we've got to make that happen? I don't think so!"

"You're not actually fighting?!" Pansy cried, aghast.

"Of course I bloody well am fighting! I'm seventeen, aren't I?"

"Exactly my point! We are barely of age, some of us only weeks over! We shouldn't have to fight this out; this is the past generation's problem!"

"Have you seen what they've done to our generation, Pansy? Have you been at school this past year? If you think I'm going to lie down and be perfectly fine with children being treated like that, you've got another thing coming! I think this affects our generation as much as, if not more than, the last!"

"But you don't have to fight!" Pansy said, her words growing desperate. "Why do you have to fight; why can't you let everyone else handle it?"

"And you call Harry Potter selfish! You want me to sit here safe and sound while my friends and family risk their necks? Absolutely not! Is that really all you care about– just making sure you survive?"

"No! I care about if you survive!" Pansy screamed, rising on her toes to lean over Lavender. Lavender stood still and Pansy shrunk back to her normal height. "I-I can't lose you to some war, not when I know I could keep you safe– when we could be safe together."

"Pansy…" Lavender reached forward and cupped the girl's cheek. "I love you, more than anything, but I need to do this. I couldn't bear watching my friends and family die when there was something I could've done to prevent that. I am going to fight– for what is right and what is just."

"But who cares about righteousness and justice? Why do you care about that so much? Aren't I enough for you? Couldn't we just run away from all this and start over?" Pansy asked, her voice thick. "I don't want to lose you; I can't. I won't let it happen. I can't let you… die," she sobbed, voice breaking on the last word. The tears finally spilled over and streamed down her face. "Please don't go. Please don't leave me. I can't go on without you." Pansy clutched at the other girl's hands and arms.

Lavender leaned in and gave Pansy a slow kiss, tasting the salty tears still carving rivers into her cheeks. Lavender pulled away. "Yes, you will. You are a strong, independent woman. You will recover."

Pansy buried her head in Lavender's shoulder, shaking her head and weeping. But the movements grew fainter and fainter, until the girl was limp in her grilfriend's arms, asleep.

Lavender tenderly removed Pansy's hands from her arms and set her down gently on the floor, propping her up against the wall. I'm such a hypocrite, she thought, fingering the empty potion bottle in her pocket and wiping her lips.

Lavender kissed Pansy on the forehead and whispered, "Something to remember me by." And, long before the girl could wake up, she ran off towards the Great Hall.


	15. Chapter 15

**Written for the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Challenges and Assignments forum's Femslash February challenge for Hufflepuff House.**

 **Prompt: 41. Narcissa/Rosmerta**

 **Word count: 501**

Rosmerta wiped down the bar for the hundredth time, sighing as she did so. She hated cleaning up after these drunkards day and in day out, but it paid the rent. She turned and filled another mug with butterbeer as a man laid ten sickles in the table. She turned around and right in front of her, uncomfortably close, was a small, bald, greasy man who looked about fifty.

"What can I get for you, sir?" Rosmerta asked, trying to be polite as she backed up.

"Your number."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

"I meant what can I get for you to drink," Rosmerta said, tensing up as the guy leaned forward.

"How about I take you for a drink sometime instead?"

"No, no thank you."

"Come on. It's just one drink."

"I said no."

"What's your problem?"

"Nothing, I just don't want to have a drink with you." _Or ever see you again; please don't kill me._

"Why not? You got a boyfriend or something?"

"Actually," Rosmerta heard a light voice with an underlying edge say, "she's got a girlfriend."

Rosmerta's eyes widened, but she quickly caught on and tried to look like she'd been expecting the woman all along.

"What, you're a lesbian or something?" he asked, his lip curling.

"Yeah, and if you've got a problem with it, just beat it, buddy," the woman told him loudly, putting her arm around Rosmerta's shoulder. The creepy man left, muttering obscenities. Once he door swung closed, the whole bar stared at the two women.

"What're you all looking at? Mind your own business!" the woman snapped, and the bar was immediately filled with its usual chatter and the clinks of tankards.

Rosmerta turned to thank the woman who'd saved her and was floored by how beautiful the woman was. Long, platinum blonde hair shimmered down to her slender waist and her face was all sharp features with piercing, ice blue eyes.

"I hate men like that, who think they're entitled to go out with a woman just because they're men– as if we owe random strangers dates," the woman spat.

Rosmerta finally found her voice. "Thank you so much for helping me. He was…"

"Terrifying?" her savior ventured.

"Yeah," Rosmerta said, looking down at the floor. "I hate guys like that too."

"Guys in general just suck," the woman said. "I'm Narcissa, by the way. Narcissa Black."

"Rosmerta. Rosmerta Hester. " The two shook hands and fell into a somewhat awkward silence.

"This timing is a bit ironic," Rosmerta asked finally, "but there isn't any way you'd want to go for a drink, would you?"

"Like a date?" Narcissa said boldly, smirking as she watched Rosmerta fidget.

"Yeah, like a date," she said quietly. "But only if you want to though–"

"Yes."

"Really?"

"Yes. I would like to go on a date with you. When does your shift end tomorrow?"

"Um, ten."

"I'll pick you up then." And Narcissa strutted out of the Three Broomsrticks.

Rosmerta smiled. She liked this one.


	16. Chapter 16

**Written for the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Challenges and Assignments forum's Femslash February challenge. Muggle!AU**

 **Prompt: 45. Ginny/Pansy**

 **Word count: 1,488**

Pansy stood on the line of The Good Place, her favorite French restaurant. She held her phone in her hand and checked the screen every thirty seconds looking for a text from Blaise. She checked again, and then looked at the time on the top of the screen. It was 7:30, just like they'd said. Where was Blaise?

When she'd first met him, Pansy knew he was her "type": rich, suave, fashionable, and had great taste. And he'd seemed like a really nice person, too. He was polite, asked interesting questions, and valued much of the same things Pansy did. Them meeting couldn't have gone any better; there was no way this wasn't going to work out. Except he was late.

No one was late on only the second date; you still had impressions to make and etiquette to follow. But Pansy was willing to wait. He was a very nice person and hadn't been late before, so maybe he was just stuck on the tube. Yeah, there wasn't any service on the tube, so he wouldn't be able to text her, and if the train had delays (not an uncommon occurrence) he would obviously be late. Pansy took a deep breath. It's alright, she told herself, and resisted the urge to call him for the fifth time.

"Reservation under Parkinson?" the maitr'd called.

Pansy stepped forward nervously, her heels clacking on the floor. "That's me."

"Right this way, miss." He led her to a secluded two-person table in the back of the restaurant, with a little window next to it. All the tables were covered in clean, white tablecloths, and small, identical candles burned on each one. Pansy sat in her chair and inhaled the scents from the kitchen. That was what happiness smelled like. If only Blaise would show up…

Pansy checked her phone yet again, and glanced out the picture window that opened up onto the street where people waited on line. Still no sign of him.

She sighed and returned to the cycle of worrying, checking, looking and then telling herself he'd show up. A waiter cam over with a menu and a bread basket. Pansy thanked him absently before going back to staring at the window without even opening the menu, as if that would make Blaise walk faster.

Ten minutes later, the waiter cam back and asked, "Are you ready to order, miss?"

"Oh. Not yet, I'm still waiting on someone."

"He'll show up soon," the man said sympathetically, and walked away. Pansy's mouth formed a tight smile. That's what I keep telling myself.

The waiter came back two more times, and still Pansy waited. Customers started turning in their seats to look on pityingly at the por girl whose date stood her up.

He hasn't stood you up, Pansy told herself. He's just late.

Sure, her cynical side countered. Forty minutes late?

Pansy huffed and gnawed on a crust of bread. And still Blaise didn't show. The waiter cam back yet again and asked, "Are you sure you don't want to order, miss?"

"He's coming!" Pansy snapped. "I'm sorry. I'll wait, thank you."

The waiter turned away dutifully, but Pansy heard him mutter, "Poor girl."

The enrtire restaurant was now sneaking periodic glances in her direction, some mocking and others sympathetic. Don't they have anything else to do? Pansy thought irritably.

Finally, it had been an hour. No Blaise. It was official: Pansy had been stood up. The waiter came and asked once again if she wanted anything.

"I'll just have the check please," Pansy said, trying to blink back her tears.

"You didn't order anything."

"Well, here's a tip. Thank you for your troubles." You are not crying in your favorite restaurant in front of all these people. Hold it together until you get back to the car, Pansy.

Her chin wobbling and throat tight, Pansy made her way to the door under the scrutiny of all the patrons and staff. She bent her head so her short hair could cover as much of her face as possible as she speed walked. And then someone stopped her.

"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry I'm late– there was traffic and then I got a call and it was just chaotic– I'm so, so, so sorry. We don't have to go, we can eat right now, right? Yeah, let's go back to the table, I'm so sorry…"

The woman– Pansy could feel the smaller hand in hers – led Pansy back to the table and hugged her. "Just go with it," she whispered in Pansy's ear.

Pansy was stiff for a moment and then nodded, discretely wiping her tears away. "Yeah, let's sit down. Don't worry about it this time."

"Great," the woman said, smiling.

Pansy could feel the rest of the restaurant beaming at her and this mystery woman. She gave a small smile and sat down, and soon the entire restaurant was back to normal, people minding their own business at last.

"I'm Ginny, by the way," the woman introduced herself. Pansy stared. She had medium-length, fiery red hair and freckles dotted her face and toned arms. Expressive, energetic eyes that told Pansy of a childish wonder this woman saw in the world stared at her interestedly. Maybe this day ddn't have to be the worst day ever.

"My name's Pansy." The waiter came and took Pansy's order and Ginny said she'd just get the same thing. Once he was out of earshot, Pansy said, "Thank you so much for rescuing me. I was so embarrassed."

"You shouldn't have to be. A respectful guy would have told you face to face instead of standing you up like a loser," Ginny replied.

"Yeah," Pansy said, growing quiet.

"Oh, I'm sorry! Did you really like him?"

"He was my type, but we'd only been on one date before, so it's not a great loss."

"He's still a jerk, though," Ginny said.

"Yeah, I suppose he is."

They fell into an silence until the waiter came with the food. After a while, Ginny said, "Well, if we're pretending to be on a date, we may as well act the part. Let's get to know each other."

"Um, okay," Pansy said. Why was her heart speeding up?

"What's your favorite place to eat?"

"Here," Pansy immediately replied.

Ginny laughed, and her happiness seemed to fill the room with light. "I should have guessed. Mine is this amazing hole-in-the-wall place that the best ramen you have ever had."

"We'll have to check it out some time," Pansy said.

"'We'?" Ginny asked, raising an eyebrow.

Realizing her mistake, Pansy stuttered and backtracked. "I meant, maybe you could give me the address, or I'll just find it myself… It was a slip of the tongue–"

Ginny laughed her infectious laugh again. "I'm just messing with you, Don't worry about it."

Pansy let out a shaky laugh and wrung her hands. "Yeah, right."

The rest of dinner passed smoothly with no other blips. They talked long into the night about their lives and shared funny stories, each enjoying spending time with someone new. And Pansy found that she'd had… one of the most enjoyable evenings she'd had in a while. She found herself wanting to see more of Ginny, despite only knowing her for about an hour.

They walked out of The Good Place hand in hand, to keep up appearances of course, and Pansy completely ignored the fact that her stomach was doing pirouettes.

"Do you want to walk a little ways with me?" Ginny asked.

Elated at the prospect of spending more time with this amazing person, she replied, "Yes, I like that."

And so the two women walked, each enjoying the other's company tremendously, but too shy to admit it.

"Oh, um, my car is right here, actually," Ginny said after about ten minutes, nodding towards a car Pansy didn't pay attention to.

"Oh." Ginny can't leave! We've only just met! Pansy thought. "I guess I'll see you around, then?"

She turned away before Ginny called, "Pansy?"

"Yes?" she asked, turning around hopefully,

"I had a really good time tonight," she said, walking towards Pansy again. "And I was thinking…" She stepped closer, way too close for comfort. Pansy's heart felt like it was going to beat out of her chest.

"Yes?"

"I was thinking maybe we could go to the ramen place sometime?"

Pansy was rooted to the spot. "Is this you asking me out in a date? For real?"

"If that's what you want."

"I'd like that."

"Good." Ginny stepped forward, closing the distance between them, and kissed Pansy softly, one hand cupping the back of her head to bring them closer together. Pansy felt a slip of paper make its way into her pocket. Ginny pulled back and said, "Call me sometime."

"Okay," was all Pansy could say before the redhead got into her car and drove off with a wink.


	17. The Fifty-First Tattoo

**Written for Slytherin house of the Houses Competition forum for round 4 as a short story. Also written for the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Challenges and Assignments forum's Femslash February challenge for Hufflepuff House.**

 **Prompts:**

 **Houses Competition: 10. (word) tattoo**

 **Femslash February: 2. Tonks/Fleur**

 **Word count: 1639**

Fleur strode into the Inked Factory tattoo parlor with grace and confidence, the way she walked into all establishments. As soon as the door slammed shut behind her, the small shop was shrouded in a yellowish gloom– the windows were covered with sheets and sheets of tattoo sketches and taped over the panes. The patrons stared at this tall, proud French woman, out of place in the crowd of heavily inked customers that usually frequented the parlor. But Fleur walked undeterred to the back of the room, her hair shining even in the dim lighting. She found someone who looked like the perfect artist at the back of the room.

Sitting at a small table with an array of threatening needles at her disposal, a shock of bright purple hair indicated the presence of an… interesting woman. Her slim form was covered by a bright red tank top with spaghetti straps that clearly showed off her tattoos– the woman was covered from head to toe in colorful ink. Simple swirls and spirals swooped across her back and shoulders, intertwined with roses and flowers and birds and bugs. The most prominent tattoo was an elegant, black-ink compass on her right upper back, with artful splotches of bright reds, blues, purples, oranges, and greens in the background. Now that she looked at the whole piece, Fleur could see that the spirals branched out from the compass, and the rest of the designs became less and less concentrated as they wrapped around her arms, back and neck, until they stopped with one little "v"-shaped seagull winking away over the left side of her collar bone.

"Can I help you?" The woman's dull voice startled Fleur out of her staring. She heard a jingle and realized that her face was also covered with piercings, and the metal rings through her lips tinkled as she talked. How could someone look so lively and vibrant, but sound so… dead?

"Did you do zis all yourself?" Fleur asked, gesturing to the woman's back.

"Yup. Every single one."

"'Ow long did zat take?"

"Several weeks."

"Did it 'urt?"

She rolled her eyes. "The infamous question. I swear when I open my own parlor, it'll be called Yes, It Did Hurt."

"So I'll take zat as a yes?"

"Did you think it'd be pleasant to have thousands of needles inject you with ink for hours at a time?"

"Well, no, but–"

"Good. You're smarter than most, then."

"I'd like to get a tattoo, please," Fleur said, a bit hotly.

"You'll have to be a bit more specific."

Fleur rolled her eyes. No straight answers would come out of talking to this woman. "I'd like a bouquet of flowers– pink carnations– on my shoulder, right 'ere." She pulled up her sleeve and pointed. "Can you do zat?"

"Easily. How big?"

"Covering zis much." Again, Fleur gestured with her hand.

"That's sixty pounds."

She pulled out the money and slapped it on the table.

"Very well," the woman said. "Take a seat."

And so she began working. First, an alcohol swab cleaned her entire shoulder, and more alcohol went on the needles. Then, with a bright blue pen, the woman began sketching. It was truly amazing how her fingers flew across the skin as easily as if it were flat paper, forming the bumps, curves, and grooves of the flower to fit the shape of Fleur's arm. As she watched, mesmerized, the woman in front of her transformed. Where she had before been short, stubborn, and closed off, she was now fully absorbed in her work and lost the layers of stone. The artist squinted her eyes when she encountered a difficult petal or leaf, and poked her tongue out if the problem area was especially tough to figure out. When she perfected a petal, she would give a little sigh and gaze at it proudly before moving on just as eagerly to the next portion.

"Done." The pen was set down with a clatter, and the tattoo artist was back to her usual monotone. Fleur found herself disappointed; she rather liked the passionate artist she'd seen just moments before. "What do you think? You want it in ink? For the rest of your life?"

"It's beautiful." Fleur turned her arm at awkward angles, bending to see the flowers in different lights.

"It's only in pen right now," the woman said gruffly.

"And it will be even more beautiful in ink," Fleur said. "What is your name?"

The woman stared. After a long pause, she said, "Tonks."

"Tonks?"

"Yes, just Tonks. And you are?"

"Fleur Delacour." She reached out her hand to shake. Tonks didn't shake it.

"Alright, I'm gonna start now. There's no going back."

"Alright. Do it."

"It is permanent."

"I know; it is a tattoo. 'Ow stupid do you think I am?"

"I don't know. People are always surprised to see my ink on the street. They come up to me and say, 'Well that's permanent!' As if I didn't know when I did it."

"So you do 'ave a sense of humor," Fleur said triumphantly. "I wasn't sure."

"Ha ha," Tonks deadpanned. She picked up what looked like a very thick pen with a needle sticking out the end and held it close to Fleur's arm. "Ready?"

"Ready."

The needle plunged into her arm and a dot of black surged into Fleur's skin. Again, more quickly this time, Tonks lost herself in concentration. Her eyes danced as she put magentas, rose, baby pink, a bit of neon in formation across Fleur's arm. She outlined the petals in thin black, making them pop and contrast against the pale skin. The ruffles at the edges of the petals were done with expert practice, each one defined and working to make the whole flower. Slowly, a smile started to form across Fleur's face– the pen really had been just the barebones of the vibrant, lifelike flower. But the real transformation was in Tonks. She began to… glow, like she radiated the happiness she received from her job. It made the shop seem that much brighter, and made Fleur feel that much happier in the tattoo parlor, like she could spend every day here without a problem.

Finally, after about two or three hours, Tonks said, "And done." She sat back with a satisfied sigh, admiring her own handiwork. "You like it?"

"It's incredible! 'Ow did you learn how to do this?"

She shrugged. "Practice. A lot of sketchbooks and a lot of unhappy test subjects."

"There's ze sense of humor again," Fleur said. "Zank you. I will come back again soon." She moved her arm experimentally and found that it ached quite a bit, even though she didn't remember any pain when getting the tattoo.

"I'll hold you to that," Tonks called as Fleur collected herself and walked towards the door.

"Good!"

* * *

It was only the next week that Fleur made good on her promise.

Tonks looked up when the doorbell rang. "Back so soon?" she called, smiling when she saw Fleur. Tonks actually smiled.

Fleur shrugged and walked to Tonks's table in the back, ignoring the stares. "I want… an olive branch."

"An olive branch. Peace. Interesting choice."

"I don't know. It feels… good, like it should be zere. Plus it will look good in a circle around my carnations, I zink."

"I could see that. Yeah, I'll do that," Tonks said, gesturing to the seat. "Fifty-five pounds."

Fleur handed over the money and Tonks went to work again.

"So, when you open your tattoo parlor, what will it look like?" Fleur asked abruptly.

Tonks stopped. "How do you know I want my own parlor?"

"You said last week."

"I guess… I did, didn't I?" She continued again, shaking her head. "I'd like it to be small, but more cheerful than this. We'll still have the designs on the walls, of course, just not covering all the windows. There will be plants– lots of them. The chairs will be cushy and red, probably, the walls a bright yellow. Maybe a few carpets and rugs or whatever…"

"Zat sounds like a very nice place to visit."

"I hope it will be." Tonks set down the pen with a small smile. "There. All done. You like?"

"Absolutely." Fleur examined it once more and smiled. "I'll have to remind myself to come back here more often."

"I hope you do," Tonks said sincerely.

* * *

 **Two years later**

Fleur Delacour walked into the Inked Factory tattoo parlor, tall and elegant, but this time she looked totally in her element. Her arms, like many of the tattoo artists and patrons, were covered in black sleeves of ink, especially her right arm, where the tattoos branched out from the initial carnations and olive branch. All of them, all fifty, had been done solely by Tonks.

Now Fleur was about to get her fifty-first tattoo. She walked straight to the back of the room and was greeted by the other artists along the way. For the first time, Tonks looked nervous before inking someone.

"Are you sure?" she asked as Fleur sat down. "It is permanent."

"I know."

"There's no going back."

"I know. I've gotten plenty of tattoos before."

Tonks rolled her eyes. "Very well."

For the first time, Fleur rolled up her pant leg instead of her sleeve. She exposed her ankle and put it in the table. The familiar cool of the alcohol swab calmed her, and the pen went to work. It was quick; Tonks only took around ten minutes to write the two letters in their agreed upon font and surround it with a perfect circle of little "v"-shaped birds.

"You ready?"

Fleur nodded. "As ready as I'll ever be."

The needle plunged in, spreading black across the skin, and slowly the ink merged to create the letters _T+F._


	18. Luna's Jealousy

**A/N: Written for the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Challenges and Assignments forum's Femslash February challenge for Hufflepuff House.**

 **Prompt: 6. Ginny/Luna**

 **Word count: 1054**

"Everyone, I'd like to introduce Loony– I mean, Luna – Lovegood," Hermione said, snickering.

Ginny studied the girl quizzically. She walked into the compartment, nodded at everyone, and sat down before going back to her magazine– The Quibbler. She read it upside down. She wore pink plastic glasses with one orange lense and one yellow. Her long, blonde hair shielded her face from the world and she didn't speak as the conversation around them picked back up. She was, Ginny concluded, an outcast. Like Ginny still felt after the incident in her first year. Ginny had friends, but not great ones, and not ones she felt were trustworthy. This was an opporutunity.

While Harry, Ron, and Hermione struck up a low conversation speculating about Voldemort's whereabouts (as if they hadn't exhausted all possibilities already), Ginny sat on the bench next to Luna.

"What are you reading?"

She looked up, as if she hadn't expected anyone to ask. Her eyes alighted on Ginny and she smiled. "The Quibbler."

"I know, but which section? There are so many interesting ones."

Luna looked delighted that there was finally another person interested in the magazine– most people (like Hermione) wrote off the columns of snorcack sightings as rubbish. "I'm trying to decipher a rune code. I figured out you have to read the answer from the previous problem upside down to decode the letters, but I'm having trouble."

"I take runes; maybe I could help," Ginny offered. Luna carefully held out the magazine. Ginny turned the pages upside down and scanned the symbols. "Where are you having trouble?" Luna pointed to the second-to-last rune. "Ah. I think that's the English equivalent of a 'g', not a 's'."

"Oh! Of course! 'Dig', not 'dis'. Now this makes sense." Luna took the magazine back and began scribbling furiously.

After waiting a minute, Ginny asked, "Uh, Luna? Did you figure out the puzzle?"

"Oh, yes! It's saying that to find the erumpent horns, you have to dig at the bottom of the sea."

"How would that work?" Ginny asked.

"I suspect with an extremely powerful bubblehead charm." Luna sat back happily and turned to the crossword.

Hermione turned to look at the two then. She tilted her head questioningly at Ginny. _You're going to chose to hang around her?_ her face said.

Ginny gave a subtle nod.

Hermione shrugged as if to say _your funeral_ and turned away.

* * *

 **One year later**

"I heard you're dating someone new now," Luna said lightly as she turned a page of The Quibbler.

"Yeah," Ginny said happily. "Dean Thomas. I really like him."

"I know."

"Hey." Ginny crossed to Luna's bed and put her arm around her best friend. "Are you okay? I feel like we talk less lately."

"Well, you're always with your new boy toys, and I don't like to disturb you."

"First of all, don't call them boy toys. I know it didn't work out with Michael, but he's the only boyfriend I'd ever had. Just because I like to flirt doesn't mean I value people less."

"Sorry," Luna said shortly and went back to her magazine.

"But hey, we can still hang out just as much as we used to. I promise you won't be a third wheel all the time."

"Okay. Thanks. Are you free tonight? I'm fishing for plimpies."

Ginny cringed and sighed. "Dean and I have a date. But–"

"No, it's okay. Go. Have fun." Luna's voice was dead as she said it and she didn't look Ginny in the eyes.

"No, it's not. I've never seen you like this. You're usually so cheerful and full of life. Have I been pushing you away?"

"No, no, of course not. I'm being silly. Go." Luna looked up and pinned on a smile. "Don't worry about me. I might catch more plimpies without you, anyway," she teased.

Ginny stuck her tongue out and turned away, but she felt oddly guilty as she went back to Gryffindor to get ready.

* * *

"Harry kissed me!" Ginny announced gleefully.

Luna dropped her Quibbler. "What?"

"Yeah. Just like that. In the common room. In front of everybody." She collapsed on Padma Patil's bed and smiled dreamily at the ceiling.

"When did this happen?!"

"Right after the game. We'd just won the cup… it was perfect."

"And you just decided to tell me now?!" Luna's face was bright red, but Ginny couldn't see.

"Well, sorry, but we had some things to talk over. Apparently he's liked me for a long time and– What's with you?" she asked as she turned around.

"What about Dean?"

"Huh?"

"Dean. Your boyfriend of a few months? What about him? You're just going to leave him in the dust because Harry came along?"

"Oh, no." Ginny looked as if she was about to laugh. "I broke up with him already."

"What? When did this happen? Why didn't I, your best friend, know about this?"

"I don't know– it happened a few days ago. Why are you so worked up about this?"

"Because– because– " Luna groaned. "This is so frustrating! You don't even know what's– And you keep– "

"Luna?" Ginny now looked at her in worry. Luna was never like this. "What's going on? Are you okay?"

"Yes, Ginny, I'm fine," she bit out, though she sounded anything but.

"No, you're not." Ginny moved closer.

"Don't touch me!" Luna cried. "Just leave me alone! Go be with Harry! Be happy and in love! Go!"

Ginny stopped and stared, and idea forming in her mind. But that couldn't be right. Luna wouldn't have kept something so big from her.

"Luna… are you… jealous of me and Harry?" No, no, that wasn't right. She hadn't known Luna to be jealous in her entire life.

"Is that what it's called?" Suddenly, Luna had become small and unsure instead of unusually angry. "Am I jealous?"

"I think you… like Harry," Ginny said, dumbfounded.

Luna chuckled, a morose sound with no actual humor. "No, Ginny. I don't."

"But you just said– " The gears whirred and clicked in her brain. "Oh."

"Yes. Oh."

"You like me."

"Yes. I like you."

Ginny was quiet, thinking. Then she said, "Oh, Luna."

"Please go," she whispered.

Ginny turned and walked toward the door, stopping when she heard a quiet, "Have fun with Harry."

Ginny just shook her head and walked away.


	19. In Which It's Impossible to Find Privacy

**A/N: Written for the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Challenges and Assignments forum's Femslash February challenge for Hufflepuff House.**

 **Prompt: 9. Dorcas/Marlene**

 **Word count: 298**

Dorcas never thought she'd be in this position. Up against a wall, being kissed like her life depended on it, being held firmly but gently by someone she loved. But damn, it felt good.

Dorcas sighed in pleasure, but stopped herself. "Marlene, wait," she whispered, holding the girl away from her body.

"Why?" she whined, twirling Dorcas's hair in her fingers.

"We're in the common room. I'd kinda want this to be somewhere a little more… private." She ducked her head.

"Okay. That's alright. Ooh, we could go to the astronomy tower," Marlene suggested.

"How romantic," Dorcas teased, pulling her away by the hand.

"It is! That's the point!"

Once they'd stepped outside the portrait hole, Marlene whisper-shouted, "Race ya!" and the chase was on.

The girls dashed through the halls, muffling their giggles as they avoided patrolling teachers and Mrs. Norris. Suddenly, Marlene pulled Dorcas to the side and kissed her again.

Her eyes fluttered closed immediately and when they opened, she asked, "Why'd you do that? Not that I mind."

Marlene shrugged. "I felt like kissing the most beautiful girl in the world."

Dorcas blushed. "Sap," she muttered. The two turned away and froze– two figures were right in front of them.

Remus Lupin and Sirius Black.

They were almost in the exact position Dorcas and Marlene had been in just minutes before, with Sirius wrapping his arms around Remus's neck. The two girls stared, not knowing what to do. But then they were spotted.

Sirius pulled away and stared at them, his swollen lips parted slightly. Remus opened his eyes and stared in surprise as well. Finally, Sirius cleared his throat, and muttered, "McKinnon. Meadows."

"Black. Lupin," Marlene replied.

"Prefect duties," Remus said.

"Likewise," Dorcas whispered back. The girls continued walking and that was that.


	20. One Way or Another

**A/N: Written for the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Challenges and Assignments forum's Femslash February challenge for Hufflepuff House.**

 **Prompt: 10. Daphne/Tracey**

 **Word count: 827**

"Did you pass?" Daphne asked as soon as she stepped into the common room. Ignoring the looks she got from her Housemates, she strode straight over to Tracey.

"Yup," the girl replied with a grin. "I can now legally Apparate."

"We're both turning seventeen next month, I'm so excited!" Daphne whispered.

"We also both might get disowned next month," Tracey reminded her quietly.

"We have the plan and it will work one way or another. Don't worry; we can and will do this."

"That's what I'm worried about."

* * *

 **One month later**

"You've got your bag packed?"

"Yes, Tracey, for the last time. Have you got yours?"

"Of course I have. I'll see you soon. One way or another."

"One way or another."

* * *

Back at the Greengrass mansion for Easter Holiday, Daphne lay on her back on her bed, admiring her room and trying to remember it– this might be the last time she stayed in it.

"Mistress Daphne must come down for dinner, Miss!" A House Elf's voice said from outside.

"Coming!" Daphne called back. She took one last look at her room, made sure her wand and the shrunken bag were in her hidden pocket, and left.

When she came down, all her family was waiting. "Oh, you've wrinkled your dress!" her mother said by way of greeting, trying to smooth it out.

"Mum, stop!" Daphne fended off the hands and sat down, trying to smile at everyone though her throat was parchment-dry.

Once everyone was situated, her father said, "Let's eat." It was met with "here, here"s and raised glasses as the food appeared at once.

Daphne tried to eat a lot, knowing it could be a long time before she had a decent meal, but everything tasted like cardboard. Her stomach was doing flips anyway, making her nauseous. She gave up and set her fork down halfway through the meal, waiting for everyone else to finish. She felt for her wand and the bag of food– still there. She took a deep breath and tried to calm herself.

Finally, everyone was done, and the plates disappeared. Her father was about to call for pudding when Daphne stood up.

"Do you have something to say, dear?"

"Yes, actually." Daphne stood a little straighter, trying to look her family members in the eyes. She cleared her throat to make her voice sound less small. "I-I wanted to announce that I'm… dating someone."

A rush of happy muttering filled the table. Daphne heard her grandmother say, "Oh I always knew the Malfoy boy would wear her down!"

"Well, go on, tell us who he is!" her mother said excitedly, and everyone nodded in agreement.

"Well, that's the thing– I'm not dating a boy, I'm dating a girl." Daphne winced as the smiles fell and mixtures of shock and anger replaced them and hurried on. "Her name is Tracey Davis and she's awesome. I'd like you all to meet her over the break, if that's–"

"What are you saying?!" her father roared. "You mean to tell me you're a– a–"

"A lesbian?" her grandmother interjected, staring in shock. "Well, I never–"

"Yes, that!" her father shouted purple with rage.

"Well, actually," Daphne said in a small voice, "I'm pansexual–"

"I don't care! How could you do this to me?! To us! To our family! Do you have any idea what people will say?"

"Do the Davises know about this?" her grandmother asked.

"I don't care what people will say! And I thought you wouldn't either!" Daphne looked around at her mother and sister. "Mom? Astoria? What about you?" She was met with two stone-cold stares. "Is everyone here homophobic?!" she cried.

"How dare you accuse–" Her father rose in his chair, and Daphne paled. She ran.

* * *

At the bus stop, Daphne could see one lone figure.

The girl standing there had a huge grin on her face, and was staring at space, looking blissful. And Daphne saw that it was Tracey.

When she heard someone else, Tracey turned. Once she saw Daphne, she ran towards her, grinning, but stopped once she got close enough to look. Daphne knew she must look a sight: dirty; crying; tangled, wild hair; her shoes in her hand. Tracey's face filled with sympathy.

"I guess things went well, huh?" Daphne asked thickly.

"Oh, Daphne…"

The girl ran into Tracey's outstretched arms and sobbed into her shoulder. They walked awkwardly to the seat by the stop and Tracey asked after a time, "What happened?"

"They don't want me," Daphne hiccuped. "They hate me."

"Well that's their loss, okay? Daphne, look at me." Tracey moved her chin face up. "Don't ever think that you somehow caused this. You are valuable and your sexuality is not a flaw. Now, we are going to go to my parents' house and you will stay with me there, okay?"

"Okay," she whispered. "Thank you."

"Of course." Tracey gave her a kiss on the head, and together they Disapparated.


	21. Just Give Me A Reason

**A/N: Written for the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Challenges and Assignments forum's Femslash February challenge for Hufflepuff House.**

 **Prompt: 12. Alice/Lily**

 **Word count: 607**

"Oi, Evans!"

Lily froze and glared at the parchment she was writing on, as if it were its fault Potter was being the arrogant toerag he was.

"Go out with me?"

Th whole common room waited in amused anticipation of the brewing storm, and smirks could be seen on the faces of Black, Lupin, Pettigrew, and a host of others. In the corner of the room, Lily saw Alice with her usual book, the only one in the room besides Lily with a downturned mouth. They locked eyes and Lily made up her mind. Enough was enough; James Potter would not get to throw around her pride like this and provide the school with entertainment any longer.

"Potter!" Lily called,

"Yes, dear?" A few giggles went through the room.

"Shut up and follow me."

Lily strode out of the room, ignoring the mutters and stared as Potter exchanged excited and surprised looks with his mates. A wolf whistle sounded and Lily flipped the guy off, her face growing red in anger and embarrassment.

Once the portrait hole slammed shut, Lily grabbed Potter by the collar and slammed him again the wall. Hard. His head went back, jostling his glasses, and a loud thump rang in the air.

"Woah, there, Evans, I'd hoped you'd changed your mind, but I didn't know you were this eager–"

Smack! "Ow!" He held his face as it turned red. "What the bloody–"

"Potter, understand that this is a demand, not a mere request. You need to stop."

"I don't know what you're–"

She stomped on his foot. "Any more lies and you'll be feeling much more pain than I've already given you."

"Evans! I'm surprised at you!"

"Shut up. Now, stop asking me out, stop 'complimenting' me, stop pretending you're interested just to get laughs from your mates, and just… don't ever talk to me again."

"No," he retorted, carefully straightening.

"Excuse me?"

"No. You'll come around eventually." Then he shook his head and laughed. "Lilykins, you keep trying to play hard to get, but I know you. It's alright to give in to your feelings."

Smack! "I cannot believe that a person could be so narcissistic and delusional! Get over yourself. I do not want to date you! Get that through your thick skull!"

"Oh, come on, Lils. What's the matter? If you really won't date me, you've gotta have a pretty good reason."

Eyes burning in hatred, Lily grabbed his shoulder, making sure to dig her nails in, and dragged him back into the common room.

"Everyone, I have an announcement!" The entire room looked at her. Black looked like he was about to make a joke, but Lily stared him down and he cowered. "I am dating Alice ELEPHANT." A whisper went through the common room and Poole stared at Alice in the back. "James Potter and I will never date, and he has agreed to stop the whole charade. Right?" She turned to him, raising an eyebrow. Finally mortified in front of the entire House, Potter nodded silently. "That will be all." She released Potter and said quietly, "How's that for your reason?"

Lily went to sit next to Alice, wrapping an arm around her protectively. Everyone slowly went back to their activities, and no one dared approach the dangerous dragon that was Lily Evans.

"Is it okay that I did that?" Lily asked Alice.

"It had to happen at some time. I was getting sick of Frank Longbottom as well. But next time you reveal one of our big secrets, do consult me."

"I'm sorry."

"All is forgiven." Lily laid her head on Alice's shoulder, humming contentedly.


	22. The Difference Between Lily Evans and Me

**A/N: Written for the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft of and Wizardry forum's Femslash February for Hufflepuff House.**

 **Prompt: 13. Lily/Narcissa**

 **Word count: 593**

She is fiery, and I am cold. She is outspoken, and I am quiet and demure. She is Muggleborn and I am Pure Blood. She is a Gryffindor and I am a Slytherin. We're total opposites, and that's why we would never work together. Because she is the free-spirited Lily Evans, and I am Narcissa Black. Just Narcissa Black.

We are both restrained to some extent, her much more so – people say that she shouldn't exist while they tell me that I should exist to uphold their values. Nevertheless, Lily Evans does what she wants, what is on her agenda. She says what she thinks. She is not afraid to put people in their place. She is brave. I am none of those things.

I must do what the ancient Pure Blood standards say, and my entire life was determined for me from the moment I was born. I will never say what I believe, but my family hopes I believe what they say. I am taught to put people in their place, but only those deemed lower than me by my family. I am not brave enough to resist any of this. And so I uphold the system that brings me further and further away from Lily Evans.

I was raised to believe that I am above people like her, and that she is not deserving of my presence. But I know that I will never be above her. No one is.

I have noticed her since first year. I watched as she grew from a nervous scraggly eleven year old, filled with self doubt as her first taste of the wizarding world showed her only hate and disdain. She matured to a fourth year, coming out of her shell to finally face the world that shunned her with prejudice. She begins to speak out against the ideas that have been drilled into people's brains, and no one sees her as a threat. Those who do this or shame her for this growing defiance pay for it later.

Lily Evans later turned fifteen, and I became fully infatuated with the rebellious advocate she was. I was happy to find that Lily Evans had no time for petulant boys that tried to gain her affections, including James Potter. She kept a close-knit group of like-minded friends that unofficially ruled Hogwarts and I could tell had great potential to become powerful one day– if the Dark Lord's forces didn't grow too fast too soon.

Lily Evans became a confident seventh year, ready to conquer the world and show it that she will not back down. Ever. That is not who she is. A brewing war doesn't stop her from being as independent as ever, or from following her heart and accepting James Potter's hand in marriage at the end of the year– and breaking my heart.

It would have been impossible. When I chose to follow the traditional path, I made myself unimportant, unnoticeable. Only my status gives me any power, any defining quality, at all. Lily has made herself powerful, rebellious: as noticeable, as important, as she could be. It baffles me how I could possibly considered more valuable at this point.

All the while, throughout my life, I have been just the youngest Black daughter. And now, for my eighteenth birthday, I get to be the latest Malfoy heiress. I cry, but pick myself back up quickly. I have accepted things all my life. I must accept my choices and Lily's, otherwise I might break.

Besides, crying doesn't become a Malfoy.


	23. In Which Careful Isn't Good Enough

**A/N: Written for the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Challenges and Assignments forum's Femslash February challenge for Hufflepuff House.**

 **Prompt: 14. Gwenog/Rolanda**

 **Word count: 394**

"Be careful up there," Rolanda said, making sure Gwenog's uniform was in good shape.

"You know I always am," she replied with an eye roll.

"I mean it this time. The Arrows are hard to beat and I've heard their keeper cheats."

"I'll be careful, okay?" Gwenog said, placing her hands on Rolanda's shoulders. "It's just a game of Quidditch."

"A game where you could get seriously hurt."

"It's not my first time on a broom; I'll be fine."

"I know."

"Okay. Wish me luck." Gwenog gave Rolanda a quick kiss, shouldered her broom, and jogged out of the locker room.

"Good luck!"

* * *

Gwenog woke to the sound of beeping. A steady, high sound. The air smelled sterile. She could not move, but she could hear voices, one that was unfamiliar and one she knew well.

"We've stabilized her for now," the unfamiliar voice was explaining.

"What happened?" the other asked. Rolanda. Good. She was here.

"She's suffered a stroke. A blood clot moved from her leg to her brain while she was in the air. She'll need to be here for a while."

"How long is that?"

"At least a month."

"A whole month?!"

"And that's if she does well."

"Will she fully recover, or…?"

"She'll be paralyzed from at least the waist down."

Silence. "She won't be able to fly anymore."

"No, she won't."

"She'll be devastated!"

"I'm sorry, but it took a while for people to realize that she wasn't conscious in the first place, and by the time she was brought here, it was too late to save her mobility; we could only salvage her life, and we're lucky we did even that."

"How will her life be like now?"

"She'll be in a wheelchair. She won't be mobile at all, but she might be able to talk, if she's lucky. Someone will need to take care of her around the clock. We have many caregivers who are equipped–"

"No. No caregivers."

"Excuse me?"

"I'll be taking care of her from now on."

"Ma'am, you're not equipped to–"

"I'm her wife! I should be the one taking care of her! I know that's what she would want!"

"You don't understand what this entails–"

"I'll learn, then!"

The arguing faded to the background and Gwenog slept peacefully, blissfully unaware of the challenges life would throw at her in the near future.


	24. A Disastrous Yule

**Written for Slytherin house of the Houses Competition forum for round 4 as a drabble. Also written for the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Challenges and Assignments forum's Femslash February challenge for Hufflepuff House.**

 **Prompts:**

 **Houses Competition: 10. (word) disaster**

 **Femslash February: 24. Hannah/Padma**

 **Word count: 491**

Padma looked over at the two boys sitting next to her, both of them slumped in their chairs and nursing butterbeers, oblivious to anything else in the world. On the dance floor, her twin sister, Parvati, was dancing madly with a handsome Beauxbatons boy, grinning as she hopped and twirled. Padma sighed and stared into the depths of her own drink. It was official: this Yule Ball was a disaster.

When she'd accepted a date with Ronald Weasley of all people, it had really only been because it was expected of her to bring a date. She wanted to kick her past self because besides not liking the boy at all anyway, he was just spending their time moping after Hermione Granger, when he could have asked her sooner if that was who he'd really wanted to go with. People were really thick.

"Excuse me?" Padma turned, jumping at a distraction, to see Hannah Abbott fidgeting nervously next to her. She was in a long, layered, sheer silk kind of dress colored in Hufflepuff yellow, and her honey-colored hair was done up in an elegant updo at the top of the back of her head. She was really quite beautiful.

"Yes?" Padma asked.

The girl fidgeted once more and glanced back at the other side of the room, where a cluster of Hufflepuffs, trying and failing to look as if they were casually sipping drinks in a group, stood with eager eyes. One of the girls– the name Susan Bones popped into Padma's mind– made a waving motion with her hand. Hannah took a deep breath and stared Padma straight in the eye, throwing her off guard and making her stare straight back.

"Would you like to dance?"

That had not been expected. "Huh?" Real intelligent, Padma. A true Ravenclaw.

"To dance?" Hannah asked. When Padma still stared blankly, her shred of confidence quickly began deflating. "I mean, I see you have a date and everything, but he was kind of ignoring you, and you looked kind of dejected–" The girl stumbled over her words and her feet as her face grew redder and she tried to back away from the table.

Oh. Oh. Suddenly, it clicked. Padma sighed internally. She hated to do it, but…

"Hannah?"

"Yes?" The girl stopped rambling and looked up hopefully.

"I'm really flattered, really I am, and Merlin knows that I am having a terrible night with this wanker–"

"Oi!" Weasley piped up.

"Be quiet," Padma said annoyedly. "But Hannah, I'm not… gay. I'm going to have to decline. Thank you, but no thank you."

The girl fell quiet. "Oh. Okay."

"I'm sorry. I hope you understand," Padma said lamely.

"No, no it's fine. Of course," Hannah said hurriedly, turning away. "I'm sorry, I've made a mistake, I'll just-just go…"

Poor Hannah. As the girl shuffled away to her sympathetic friends, Padma could only think to herself, _Yup. A real disaster of a Yule Ball._


	25. No Strings Attached

**A/N: Written for the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft of and Wizardry forum's Femslash February for Hufflepuff House.**

 **Prompt: 29. Alicia/Cho**

 **Word count: 705**

Cho pulled her broom up, flying higher to scan the sky for the snitch. The crowd of red suddenly roared, and Cho cursed. She looked at the scoreboard and saw that Ravenclaw was only thirty points behind. If she could only catch the snitch now…

She saw a flash of crimson out of the corner of her eye, and looked as Potter soared higher. They'd have to battle it out; both of them needed the snitch for the win. Cho sighed. Potter knew she wasn't as good a flyer and that she had an inferior broom. This would not end well.

She circled almost lazily a few times, her eyes darting, but found nothing. Then, Cho had an idea. She saw Potter also circling, dodging bludgers as necessary. If Potter could spot the snitch and give its position away, she'd just have to get there faster.

She made her way slowly over to where he flew, trying to circle enough to make it seem as though she wasn't going to follow him. Then, he angled down and dove straight at her.

Cho ducked and turned, feeling the wind from Potter's movement on her back, and saw the glint of gold Potter had moments before. Cursing, she sped up, even though it was almost impossible for her to catch up. Potter flew full speed at the snitch, his hand outstretched, and–

A bludger flew right in front of him, making him stop.

Cho continued ahead as Ravenclaw cheered madly, ecstatic at the prospect of winning the Quidditch Cup for the first time in almost twelve years. She was finally going to do it. She was finally going to beat Potter. Cho reached out her hand. The snitch was just five feet away… four feet… two feet… one–

A red blur sped in front of Cho, knocking her off course. The crowd's volume increased impossibly as Potter realized his opportunity and lurched forward to close his hand around the snitch.

Cho searched the field for her saboteur, and saw a scarlet-clad figure with gold letters spelling Spinnet on the back. Alicia slowly stopped her broom and turned around, flying towards her team to share in the victory. When she saw Cho staring open-mouthed at her, she winked and then joined in the huddle.

Cho flew towards her own team, a sad, small mass of blue. The captain said a few words about trying their best, but it was hard to hear over the deafening cocaphony of celebrations from the Gryffindors around them. After the Ravenclaws trudged to the change rooms, defeated, Cho went off to find Alicia.

She found the girl surrounded by her team outside the change room, Wood still sobbing in happiness. When Alicia spotted her, she detached herself from the group.

"We won!" she crowed, planting a kiss on Cho's lips. Despite her feeling of melancholy, Cho smiled.

"You did. Congratulations."

"I really am sorry about that last move, though."

"It's alright. You did what you had to for the game. We agreed before this there'd be no emotions, no strings, attached."

"It still must feel pretty bad for you though."

Cho sighed. "Yeah. I screwed it up for everyone."

"You're free to blame me for everything."

"You'd like that credit, wouldn't you?" Cho teased.

Alicia laughed. "Let me make it up to you."

"Oh? How?"

"Come to the Gryffindor party with me. Fred and George probably set it up with Lee already."

"Won't that be a little weird?"

"Well, seeing as it was your mistake that won us the game, I'm sure you'll be treated like a hero."

"Well, if I'm a hero, then."

Alicia rolled her eyes. "You're so full of yourself."

"But you love me anyway."

"Yes, I do," she replied matter-of-factly.

"And I you."

"I'm glad we didn't let Quidditch come between us."

"Me too. I wouldn't be able to bear it."

"Me neither. Also, then I wouldn't be able to do this– you're it!" Alicia tagged her and ran off towards the castle, her Quidditch robes billowing behind her.

Cho smiled and ran after her, catching up quickly and tackling her onto the grass. They lay there for quite a while, enjoying each other's company, the party long forgotten.


	26. Not A Bad Development

**A/N: Written for the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft of and Wizardry forum's Femslash February for Hufflepuff House.**

 **Prompt: 44. Lavender/Susan**

 **Word count: 677**

Lavender woke to an incessant, piercing beeping noise. She groaned, trying to identify the sound– and sat bolt upright when she did. Moments later, the automated, cool female voice announced, "Fire. Evacuate the building. Fire. Evacuate the building."

She was up like a shot, and grabbed the nearest robe to pull over her pajamas from the hook by her door before rushing outside. Before she darted out of the flat, Lavender remembered the drills from elementary school and felt the door. It was cool. Breathing a sigh of relief, she opened the door and ran down the stairs into the night.

Fire trucks, sirens blaring, stood outside the apartment building, and firefighters had already begun to spray down the tenth floor, where Lavender saw the fire had started. She thanked Fate that she lived on the eighth.

A row of people who'd already evacuated stood on the sidewalk, some talking about what had happened and some still panicked. Lavender didn't know anyone, and she anxiously waited by herself in the line.

Suddenly, a side door burst open and a group of firefighters and residents, coughing and choking, came out of the building. It wasn't long before the firefighters moved back in to find more people and the residents were left in the hands of the already busy medics. Lavender saw one woman trying to crouch into a ball and make herself small. Seeing that everyone else was busy, she ran over to help when she saw the reason the woman was trying to cover every inch of herself: she was stark naked.

"Here," Lavender said quickly, handing over her robe as she looked away from her exposed figure. Really? she scolded herself. Now is so not the time.

"Thank you," the woman said, and hastily put the garment on. "I woke up and there was smoke everywhere and firefighters– I don't know how I'd slept through it that far."

"Were you on the tenth floor?" Lavender asked.

She nodded. "But I don't think the fire started in my apartment. It might have been Benny– he lives two doors down and he's always smoking."

"That could very well have been it," Lavender mused.

"My name's Susan, by the way, Susan Bones," she said, holding out her hand.

"Lavender Brown."

She shook Susan's hand and she pulled it away sharply with a hiss.

"Oh, did you burn yourself? I'm sorry! You should get that checked by a medic."

"I suppose I might have."

"Here, let me see." Lavender pulled Susan's hand close to her, inspecting the burn. "I'm no doctor, but it looks like the ones I get from my curling iron; you should be fine if you keep it in cold water, or maybe put some cream on it." She looked up and saw how close she'd become to the woman– and how there was nothing separating them except for her thin robe. She cleared her throat and pulled away, a blush staining her cheeks. "Sorry."

The moment was interrupted, however, when a medic came bustling over, first aid kit in hand. "Are you two feeling alright? Dizzy? Nauseous?" They shook their heads, but Susan showed the medic her burn. "You should be fine in a week or so. Here's some ice and put some cream on it. Which floor were you on?"

"The tenth."

"The tenth? Oi!" she called to her colleagues. "This one was on the tenth floor! We need a full check!" She turned to Susan and held her arm firmly. "You're coming with me."

"Wait! Lavender!" Susan called as the medic dragged her away. "Thanks for the robe! I live in 10M!"

"I'll see you soon!" was the best response Lavender's tired brain could muster.

Looking at her watch, Lavender saw it was 3:00 AM. Shaking her head, she went over and took a blanket from a pile that had been set out and laid down on the pavement, trying to recover from the day. Then, she realized how she'd replied to Susan. Crap. Then again, maybe it wasn't necessarily a bad development.


	27. Parvati's On A Date

**A/N: Written for the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Challenges and Assignments forum's Femslash February challenge for Hufflepuff House.**

 **Prompt: 51. Parvati/Lavender**

 **Word count: 534**

Padma scanned the Three Broomsticks for her sister. She finally found her at a small booth at the back, nursing a butterbeer. She was dressed unusually nicely in a long sundress, with her long hair braided back with gold intertwined in.

"Hey, stranger," she said, sliding into the seat across from Parvati. "Long time no see."

"Oh, um, yeah," Parvati said, glancing at the door. "How are you?"

"Good, good. But Snape is laying on essays like you wouldn't believe. What about you? What are you up to these days?"

"Nothing much, just getting through exams." Parvati's eyes drifted towards the door again. Padma turned to see what the fuss was about, but couldn't see anything.

"Why'd you lose the uniform?" she asked, trying to get her to talk.

"No reason." Parvati fidgeted and looked towards the window, where Padma could see that her eyelashes had–

"Is that mascara? Are you wearing makeup?"

She looked at the floor. "Yeah. It doesn't look bad, does it?"

Padma squinted. "No, it doesn't, actually. You're just usually such a sweatpants type of girl."

Parvati didn't answer because when her eyes strayed to the doorway, they widened almost comically. Padma turned around again to see Lavender Brown, dressed just as nicely and looking just as nervous as Parvati. Something was up.

"Lavender! Come join us!" Padma waved her over, and Lavender's eyes narrowed, looking at Parvati searchingly before she came over.

"What are you doing?" Parvati hissed.

"Inviting your best friend over to sit with us," Padma said. "Is that a problem?"

"No, there's no problem," Parvati said, but her voice was high and squeaky.

Lavender sat down next to Parvati uncertainly, squishing them together in the small booth. They looked at each other uncertainly, both turning as red as tomatoes.

"You look very nice," Lavender said quietly.

"You too," Parvati muttered.

They sat awkwardly before Rosemerta came over and asked, "Drinks, girls?"

"Two butterbeers, please," Padma said.

"One without whipped cream," Parvati interjected.

Lavender looked at her. "You remembered my order."

"Oh, um, yeah," Parvati said, not meeting her eyes as she played with her hair. After they waited even longer, she stood and said, "I can't take this anymore. Padma, could you come with me?"

Without waiting for an answer, she grabbed her sister by the arm and pulled her towards the bathrooms.

"What– Ow! – Parvati what are you doing?!" Padma said, trying to loosen her sister's grip.

"You need to leave," Parvati told her.

"What? Why?"

"Just leave!"

"So I can't hang out with you and your friends anymore?! Wow, Parvati."

"Lavender is not just my friend!" she whisper-shouted.

Padma's eyes widened before a slow smile spread over her face. "Oh. I see."

"Yes, now will you please get out?"

"The makeup, the dress, the nervous looks–"

"Yes, you figured it out, now get out and keep your mouth shut!"

Padma was quiet for two seconds, before she started in a sing-song voice, "Parvati's on a date, Parvati's on a date, Parvati–"

"Oh my god, you are so immature! Shut up, get out!"

Padma ran away laughing as Parvati chased her, leaving a very confused Lavender to speculate what in the world had happened.


	28. To Billboards and Eggs

**Written for the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Challenges and Assignments forum's Femslash February challenge for Hufflepuff House.**

 **Prompt: 52. Hermione/Padma**

 **Word count: 1627**

Hermione stared down at the phone in her hand in disgust. Was this really how it was going to end? She knew she and Ron were… not in the best place, but she hadn't known things had been this bad. She hadn't known he'd been cheating on her.

The phone pinged again, and another profane message from this woman showed up. Hermione felt angry tears come to her eyes. How dare he?! Well, she and Ron were certainly done, and he would not be getting away with this. Hermione looked down at the vibrating phone and a smile spread across her face. She may be heartbroken, but she'd make sure she wasn't the only one.

* * *

She rung the door bell, a little nervous, but confident and angry enough that it wouldn't inhibit her from executing her plan.

The door opened to reveal a short Indian woman in a smart pantsuit. Her eyes alighted on Hermione in confusion. "Can I help you?"

"I'm quite close with Ronald Weasley, and I think we need to talk."

More confusion lined the woman's face and she asked, "Ronald Weasley? What do you know about Ron?"

Hermione inhaled sharply at the use of the familiar name, her anger bubbling beneath the surface. "Can I please come in?"

"No."

"Fine. I would have thought someone would really like to hear about someone cheating on them, but I guess not."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. Let me come in and I'll tell you all you need to know."

The woman stared at her, sizing her up. "I kind of feel like you're going to murder me, but sure."

Hermione smiled. "Don't worry, I'm not." She stepped through the front door. The woman followed and shut the door behind her.

They walked into a spacious living room that opened up to an adjoined kitchen/dining room. A glass coffee table held a mug on top of a coaster and huge tomes were stacked under it. The walls were lined with dark wooden furniture– bookshelves, all completely stuffed with big books, small books, and newspapers; tables held sculptures and old paintings hung on the free wall space. A large sliding glass door on the left led to a modest backyard.

"Nice house," Hermione commented, taking a seat without being asked.

"Thank you," the woman said, pouring a glass of water and setting it on the coffee table on top of a coaster. "Now why are you here and what do you know about my boyfriend?"

Hermione let out a sharp laugh with no humor. "He's not your boyfriend."

"Sorry?"

"Well, not only your boyfriend. You see, I've been dating him as well. Or I thought I was."

"No no no," she said, shaking her head. "Ron has been faithful to me for a whole year."

"He's been 'faithful' to me for a year and a half," Hermione countered with a grimace.

She leaned back in disbelief. "He never told me about you. I never would have thought he hadn't been… single when I met him."

"Why would he tell you? Being someone's… dirty little secret isn't exactly something most people accept as a package deal when they meet someone."

"Excuse me! If something has been going on, I do not believe I was only his dirty little secret. I do believe Ron did – does – care about me. Besides," she started, getting angry, "where's your proof that anything has been going on?"

"I saw you texting him earlier and thought you'd want to know."

"Well that doesn't prove that he was dating you!"

"You think I'm lying about this?" Hermione scoffed. "What would I have to gain by ruining strangers' happy relationships? I can show you our texts if you want." She puled out her phone and scrolled through the feed before handing it to the woman. "I have all his information. I have pictures from his birthday and other events. I have nothing to hide about our relationship."

Hermione waited while the woman let the information sink in. Finally, the lady sat back and blew out a breath of air. She was silent for a moment, until: "That bastard."

"My thoughts exactly."

"How did you find my house?"

"He has your address in his contacts. He can never remember directions, that one," Hermione said with a sigh, taking her phone back.

"Well, I appreciate the sentiment of telling me, I guess, but what other purpose do you have of coming here? You could have just texted."

Hermione smiled. "Well, I imagine you're a bit heartbroken; I was when I realized what had been happening. And I also think a great way to channel our hurt and anger is if we break up with Ron– quite publicly, I might add."

"I hadn't thought of that," the woman said. "But I like the idea. A lot. I'm Padma." She held out her hand to shake.

"Hermione." Hermione shook it.

"How do you propose we get our revenge?"

Hermione took a sip of water and pulled out a pad of paper and a pen. "Well…"

* * *

"Isn't this illegal?" Padma asked nervously.

"No idea," Hermione replied, bending over her crate as she looked left and right. "But I'm pumped on adrenaline and it's too late to turn back now."

"All clear," Padma said, hefting her own crate under her more securely.

"Let's go."

The two ran across the street and didn't stop until they reached house number 63. All the lights were off and Hermione couldn't tell if this was a good or bad sign.

"It's now or never," Padma whispered. "I'll take the right side, you take the left."

Hermione nodded and carried her crate to the left, where the window opening into the dining room showed the house eerily silent. She opened her crate carefully so as not to make it squeak and stared down at the fragile, pearl white ammunition. Eggs.

Hermione chose a particularly large one and bounced it in her hand, gauging the distance she'd have to throw. She looked around the house at Padma, who nodded. And Hermione hurled the egg straight at the window.

Splat. The shell shattered with a satisfying crunch and the innards spread over the window. Hermione smiled. This felt glorious.

She heard a small shriek of laughter from the other side of the house, and it encouraged her to continue. She hurled egg after egg after egg at the window until it cracked and then moved on to the walls, aiming higher and higher until she got one on the roof. She heard Padma move to the back, so Hermione moved to the front and peppered the porch with more eggs, making sure to get the windows too. Then Padma came around, her hair windswept, cheeks glowing and flushed.

"Save your eggs for tomorrow!" she called.

"Keep your voice down," Hermione hissed back.

"Sorry." Padma ran behind her to hide behind a bush and Hermione followed. "You ready to do this all over again?"

"And again and again and again," Hermione said with a sigh. "That was exhilarating."

"I'm proud of us," Padma said.

"So it's 'us' now?" Hermione asked.

"We make a pretty good team, you have to admit."

"I suppose we do." They they sat in silence for a while, admiring their work. Finally, Hermione said, "we should get out of here. He'll come back from the bar soon."

"Mm. Have you heard from your 'contact' yet?" Padma asked, standing up.

"No, but I should shortly. Last time we spoke, she said it should be up by tomorrow."

"Excellent." The two darted back across the deserted street to Hermione's car. After loading the back with the eggs, they leaned back in their chairs, happy with the day's work.

Abruptly, Padma asked, "Do you want to come back to my place?"

Hermione nodded.

* * *

 **Two years later**

"I got your coffee," Padma announced, hopping into the passenger seat and giving Hermione a quick kiss.

"Great. I have somewhere I want to take you." Hermione turned the keys in the ignition.

"Ooh, is this my anniversary surprise?" Padma waggled her eyebrows.

"Of sorts." Hermione smiled and drove off.

After a time, Padma was confused. "But this is just your route to–"

"Wait for it… there," Hermione interrupted. "Look up."

A huge billboard stood proudly on the side of the highway. On it, a letter from two years ago read:

 _Hello Ronald._

 _You cheating asshat. You didn't think we'd find out eventually? You thought you could get away with lying to the both of us? With keeping such secrets? How naïve._

 _Ron Weasley is a cheating, lying, douchebag who pretended to be loyal to two women at once._

 _We are the angriest we have ever been. Forget about ever talking to either of us again. A surprise is waiting for you at home and will not stop for at least a week. And all will know of your infidelity as long as we can afford this billboard._

 _Hermione and Padma_

Under it, a message, spray-painted in the dead of night, read in neon orange:

 _P.S. We're also dating now, so suck on that!_

To the right of the message, a new, printed one read:

 _Still in a happy, **honest** relationship for two years! Happy anniversary darling. I love you!_

 _Hermione_

Padma gasped. "It's our billboard anniversary too! And you put it up again… oh my god!" She reached over and gave Hermione a happy kiss. "Thank you so much, babe!"

"You like it?" Hermione asked with a grin.

"Of course! I love it! Happy anniversary!" She pulled out a velvet box. "And to think I got you a necklace!"

Hermione laughed. "To billboards!" She raised her coffee cup.

"To eggs!"

They drank to that and Hermione drove off.


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N: Written for Slytherin House in the Houses Competition forum's round 4 as a themed story. Set after the events of Cursed Child. Hermione/Audrey!AU!**

 **Prompt: 10. (word) refusing**

 **Word count: 2,001**

* * *

December 18, 2022

"Wait, who is coming from your family again, Audrey?" a flustered Molly Weasley asked. She batted away a flyaway as she read through her guest list, her small reading glasses perched on her nose. She and the women of the Weasley family were planning the annual Weasley Pre-Christmas Prep, where the entire family got the house ready for the holidays.

"Me, Hermione, Molly and Lucy," Audrey replied calmly.

"And Percy, of course, so that's five already, then," Mrs. Weasley muttered. "And then with Bill, George– is Charlie coming this year?– Ron, and Ginny and Harry, and me and Arthur of course, that's… twenty nine! Merlin!"

"No, Victoire and Teddy are going away and Hugo is staying at Hogwarts this year," Hermione corrected. "So that's twenty five."

"Twenty six, actually," a voice called from the entryway. Ginny Potter stepped into the kitchen and hugged her mother before sitting down. "Albus is bringing a friend."

"Oh good, he's always been so quiet," Mrs. Weasley said, adding a tally to the list. "So, who's he bringing?"

"Scorpius Malfoy," Ginny replied.

Audrey looked at Hermione, both their interests peaked. "The one who was with the whole time-turner debacle?" Audrey asked.

Ginny nodded. "The very same."

"Are we sure that's… I don't know… safe?" Hermione asked.

"Hey, it wasn't Scorpius's fault about any of that," Ginny said. "It wasn't even his idea. And he's a really nice boy, and Albus needs friends."

"Very well," Audrey said.

"Does Harry know about this?" Molly asked.

"Of course. Why wouldn't he?" Ginny challenged.

"No reason," Mrs. Weasley said lightly. When Ginny continued to stare, she conceded. "Well, you know how he was with the whole him being a Malfoy business. Has he finally come to accept it?"

"Yes, I believe he has, the stubborn-headed git," Ginny said fondly. "And it isn't his choice who Albus makes friends with anyway."

"Well, I believe we should get going," Audrey said. "Lots to prepare at home."

"Of course, of course," Mrs. Weasley said. "Thank you both so much for helping."

"Our pleasure," Audrey told her. "I'll have the seating chart ready by tomorrow."

"Excellent. Goodnight dears."

"Goodnight everybody," Audrey called. She and Hermione received a chorus of "goodnights" back, and they collected their belongings and headed out the door, Disapparating into the night.

"So," Audrey said they entered their home, "Scorpius Malfoy is finally entering the Weasley lair."

"Don't start anything," Hermione warned. "We don't want Albus to think inviting him was a mistake."

"But he likes him," Audrey whined, bouncing up and down. "And I want him to be happy."

"I know, but he has to do this on his own," Hermione told her, opening the fridge.

"And he will… along with my carefully placed nudges and hints."

Hermione turned. "No."

"It'll be torture to watch them dance around each other."

"It could be fun."

"But it could be more fun if we watched Albus trying to use opportunities to ask Scorpius out!" Hermione paused and Audrey seized her chance. "Please? Please? Please please please please–"

"Fine! But you have to assume the title of Worst Aunt Ever."

"Deal. Now where's the seating chart Mum gave you?"

* * *

December 19, 2022

"Here's the seating chart you asked for," Audrey said, handing it to Mrs. Weasley.

"Oh, thank you!" she said, putting her glasses on her nose and scanning it. "I thought Albus was going to sit between Louis and Fred?"

"I thought he'd like to sit next to his friend," Audrey replied breezily. "And Scorpio's will like to have someone familiar to talk to."

"Very well then," she said, putting the parchment in a folder before turning away.

"Oh! Mum?" Audrey called.

"Yes, dear?"

"Can I see the chores chart?"

"You're only on dishes."

"Yes, but can I see it anyway? Please?"

"Fine." She handed it to Audrey, who perused it in dismay. Albus and Scorpius barely had any activities together! She studied the times and places, rearranging the thing in her head. "Can I get this back to you?"

"No. I need to make sure everything is in order, that everyone has an equal amount of jobs, that no one is supposed to be in two places at once, that everything gets done–"

"I'll take care of all of that."

Still, Mrs. Weasley looked reluctant. "I already have an almost complete table. I just need to find Rose and fit her in before I make the itineraries."

"I'll do everything. You won't have to worry about a thing. I'll even print the itineraries for you," Audrey reassured her.

"Would you really?"

"Of course."

She pursed her lips one final time, but Audrey knew she had already won. "Fine, then. But make sure the itineraries are made today! Everyone's coming tomorrow!"

"I will!" she called back, already rushing away.

* * *

December 20, 2022

"Everyone ready?" Mrs. Weasley asked. "We'll meet each other there at King's Cross!"

All the adults muttered their dissent before turning on their heels and apparating to the station. They each casually leaned through the barrier between Platforms 9 and 10 so as not to draw suspicion from the Muggles around them, and slowly, the Weasleys and extended family emerged at Platform 9 ¾. Five minutes after they arrived, Percy apparated directly into the station and made his way over. He gave Mrs. Weasley a hug and greeted the other members cordially, only nodding somewhat stiffly at Audrey and Hermione. Audrey sighed and squeezed Hermione's hand. Percy never did know how to act around them after he and Audrey divorced.

Not long after, a fire-red train belching smoke came thundering into the station. The Hogwarts Express had arrived. Children clamored off the cars in packs, struggling with their trunks and various pets. Friends exchanged last-minute hugs and parents rushed into the throng to greet and help their children as they spotted them. Finally, Ginny spotted the Weasley crowd, pointing and shouting, "There!"

A crowd of red-heads and brunettes, with one platinum-blond in their midst, clattered off of the train, chattering and bickering loudly. The Weasley parents ran over to their children to give hugs and kisses, and trunks were levitated onto trolleys.

As Audrey gave Molly and Lucy hugs and kisses on their heads, she looked around at the Potter-Weasley clan. Lily Luna was chatting with her mother while James was trying to get Harry's attention. But his gaze was on Albus and Scorpius, the latter of whom looked quite nervous. Albus's hand kind hovered around the boy, as if he wanted to ease his anxiety but didn't know how. Audrey smirked.

Finally, Mrs. Weasley wrangled the family into groups and adults paired up with children so they could disapparate to the Burrow. They did so in a span of fifteen minutes before everyone was shepherded inside and given hot cocoa and their itineraries.

Audrey made sure to sit within ear-shot of Albus and Scorpius when they opened their itineraries. As exclamations of delight or complaion rang out among the children and adults ("Yes! I get to decorate the tree!" "I got put on de-gnoming for the second time in a row!"), Audrey saw Albus's eyes widen. Meanwhile, Scorpius muttered, "It seems we're doing cookie baking and decorating throughout the days, both together."

"I wonder why Grandma Molly did that," Albus said in a high voice, his cheeks a light pink.

Audrey couldn't help herself. "I actually did that," she butted in. "I wanted to make sure that you had someone familiar to lead you through this tornado." She gave Albus a subtle wink, ignoring Hermione's eyes boring into the back of her head. "You'll be spending a lot of time together."

She turned to face forward again, leaving both boys to look away from each other in embarrassment.

Audrey made the mistake of catching Hermione's eye, and the woman's mouth was in a thin, straight line, though she could tell she was trying not to smile. "What?" Audrey asked.

Hermione just shook her head and surveyed her itinerary.

* * *

10:00 AM, December 21, 2022

"Alright everyone, gather round!" Mrs. Weasley had somehow managed to cram all of the Burrow's occupants into the living room. "We have four days to get this place in order and ready for Christmas. You were all given your itineraries yesterday and know what your duties will be. We will break for lunch at 12:30 and then restart at 1:30. Let the Burrow's Pre-Christmas Prep commence!" A cheer rang through the room and everyone dispersed.

Audrey took up her post dusting in the living room, and saw Albus and Scorpius slip into the kitchen with Mrs. Weasley. Through the wall, Audrey could hear Mrs. Weasley explain to them how to make the dough and how to scoop and bake the cookies. She then left them to start on some of the components of the Christmas dinner. It was mostly quiet from what Audrey could hear, but at around 11:15, Mrs. Weasley said, "Well, I'm about done here. I'll just leave you boys to it until you finish with that bowl. Holler if you need me, use oven mitts, and stay away from the knives. Can you handle that?"

The boys both answered "yes" and Mrs. Weasley exited the kitchen. She found Audrey with her ear against the wall. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing, just dusting." Audrey sprang from her position and swept the duster over the already-spotless china.

"No slacking, even for the adults," Mrs. Weasley scolded, and continued on to whatever duties she had next.

Audrey smiled when she walked away. The boys were alone. Hopefully, Albus wouldn't be a complete idiot and would use this chance. And so she waited.

* * *

7:00 PM, December 21, 2022

"It's like he is refusing to acknowledge his feelings," Audrey moaned as she collapsed on the bed. "The situation was handed to him. Handed to him."

"Maybe he's really shy, or really scared, or both," Hermione said, lying next to her.

"How he got into Slytherin, I wouldn't know. They act like Hufflepuff first years!"

"Well, I think you should just let him go at his own pace," Hermione told her. "Give him a chance, it'll happen eventually."

"If by 'eventually' you mean in twenty years, then yeah, sure."

* * *

December 24, 2022

Audrey was at the end of her rope. She had tried everything in her power to get her nephew and his crush alone and he would. Not Budge. She realized she would have to be upfront about this. It was in Albus's best interests.

So, at the end of the day, when everyone was exhausted from the preparation, she pulled Albus aside. Without any introduction, she asked, "When are you going to ask Scopius out?"

Albus's eyes widened. "What–"

"You like him, and it's so obvious he likes you too. I've been trying to get you too alone this entire week and you are not doing anything!" She whisper-shouted. "What gives?"

"You want me to– You've been–" Albus couldn't seem to find the words to express his shock. Finally, he deflated and muttered, "Dad would kill me."

"No, he wouldn't. And who cares? If he doesn't want you to be happy, that's his problem." Albus couldn't seem to find any more excuses, so she went on. "By the end of today, I want you to have asked him out."

"What!? No!"

"If he says no, I'll buy you whatever you want from Honeydukes for a month, as long as it doesn't make too much of a dent in my Gringotts account."

Albus bit his lip. "I thought bribery was a Slytherin thing. But, fine, deal."

They shook hands. "I just want you be happy," Audrey said. "And by the end of today, you'll either have a boyfriend or a lot of candy, so you should be thanking me."

And, at the Weasley Christmas of 2022, if one looked closely, they would see one Albus Severus Potter and one Scorpius Malfoy holding hands under the table, with a very satisfied smirk on Audrey Granger's face.


	30. Muggleborn Infiltration of Legal Fascism

**A/N: Written for round 5 if the Houses Competition forum for Slytherin House as a themed story. Also written for the Golden Snitch forum's International Woman's Day 2018 Challenge for Wampus House of Ilvermorny School.**

 **Prompts:**

 **Houses Competition: 4. [Speech] "Just look me in the eyes and tell me he is not the devil, please."**

 **Golden Snitch International Woman's Day 2018 Challenge: 8. Rosa Parks– write about a character refusing to obey a law/rule because it isn't right.**

 **Extra Prompts: (setting) British Ministry of Magic, (word) hope, (word) civil, (word) unfair**

 **Disclaimer: I don't really know anything about law IRL or even that much about wizarding law, so this is based on some googling and my imagination. So, it's NOT ACCURATE.**

 **Word count: 2,999**

* * *

"This is really disturbing," Hermione commented. "Look: ' _Only the Minister, head Ministry officials, and Heads of Most Ancient and Noble Houses may hold positions in the Wizengamot'_."

"Yeah, so?" Ron asked, not looking up from his _Prophet_. "That's how it's always been."

"Don't you see the problem here?"

He folded the paper closed and looked at her with a slight smile. "Sorry, I'm drawing a blank."

"Only Purebloods are part of the Most Ancient and Noble Houses, much less Heads. Muggleborns can't make laws in their own government." She closed the huge tome and leaned back. "I can't believe no one has changed this!" She looked angrily into the distance, a plan formulating in her mind.

"Uh oh. I know that look. What are you plotting?" Ron asked.

She caught his gaze and smiled deviously. "First I need you to teach me everything you know about Pureblood laws and the Ministry and the Wizengamot."

"I hate to disappoint, but you probably know more than I do. The Weasleys were pushed out of the Sacred Twenty-Eight generations ago."

Hermione's smile didn't diminish as she began packing. "There's hope in it yet. To the library!"

"But it's already nine o'clock–"

The door slammed shut, and Ron shook his head at himself. He should know better than to think he could stop Hermione Granger.

* * *

The next Sunday, Hermione, Ron, Ginny and Harry were sat in a booth at a Muggle diner. They were at one of their weekly lunches in their favorite diner. Hermione had spent the past half hour more absorbed in her book than usual. For the fifth time that day, she exclaimed, "Oh my Merlin!"

"What now?" Ron asked, stealing a chip from her plate.

"These laws haven't been changed in ages! Technically, Muggleborns aren't supposed to have accounts at Gringotts!"

"Why the sudden interest in ancient law? I thought you were campaigning to be head of the Department of Magical Education," Harry asked.

"I was, but I came across a passage that… enlightened me. A plan began to form in my mind, and now I'm working on another project."

"You don't want the position anymore?" Ginny asked in surprise. "But you were going to do so many great things inside Hogwarts."

"Of course I still want the position, but I realized that that can be put on hold. With McGonagall as Headmistress, things will be alright for a few years."

"A few years? What is this project anyway?" Harry asked.

Hermione sighed. "I'm working on changing a lot of the laws that restrict Muggleborns. The most recent one that's been changed allowed us to vote in elections, and was only changed in the 1970s."

"But how are you gonna get laws past the Wizengamot?" Ron interjected. "You know Lord Greengrass is still on there?"

"I thought Greengrass was alright," Ginny mused.

Hermione stared at her. "He helped Umbridge draft the Muggleborn Registration Commission," she hissed. "Just look me in the eyes and tell me he is not the devil, please."

Ginny held up her hands. "Sorry, sorry; I didn't know."

"The government's been controlled by rich Purebloods for centuries," Hermione continued, "and they make sure that the laws they pass don't allow any Muggleborns in positions of power so they can keep it that way. I want to change the way the system works so that Muggleborns can enter the government as well. I especially want to change things in Hogwarts, because we're teaching these prejudices from the beginning, you know. I think I'll make a Government Studies class for Muggleborns so they can understand the way the Ministry works. I also–"

"Hermione?" Ginny cut in.

She looked up from the notes she'd been reading while she was talking. "Yes?"

"This is all pretty fascinating, but could we maybe just enjoy lunch?"

She looked at the boys– they'd been smart enough to continue eating and keep silent while she talked, but it was clear she was boring them as well.

"But– but–" Hermione spluttered. "This is important information! And I'm working to change our government, our school! Don't you guys care about that?"

"Yes, we do," Harry answered, "but I think Ginny's just saying that we don't want to discuss politics right now. These lunches were meant to relax, to be able to not think about all that–"

"Well, don't you guys realize that this affects a whole third of the wizarding world? That it affects me?" she asked hotly. "I'm trying to change something that I'll never be able to get away from. I can't change my blood and neither can the rest of the Muggleborns. I'm fighting for our rights and you guys want to shoot me down?"

"We don't want to shoot you down, we just want to have lunch without bringing politics into it," Ron soothed.

"Well, you only want to walk away because it doesn't affect you!" Hermione yelled. "These politics are incredibly important to all Muggleborns and they affect us greatly! None of you understand what that's like! I expected more from you!"

She gathered up her books and left the diner, refusing to meet anyone's gaze as Ron tried to call her back and people stared. Hermione wiped furiously at her eyes as the door slammed shut.

Once she was back in the flat, Hermione's mind was racing, her fury fueling her brain into concocting the next part of her plan. Lines of acts and reform laws raced through her head, and she scribbled down the ideas like mad. She stayed up through the night sifting through her library for all the Pureblood laws that could possibly be changed, and drafting bills that would repeal them, ready to transform the Wizarding World forever.

* * *

A knock sounded at his door. "Minister Shacklebolt?"

Kingsley looked up tiredly. "Yes? Come in."

His Senior Secretary, Willoughby, entered with a letter clutched in his right hand. "I have a letter from Hermione Granger. She requests a Convention of the Wizengamot on the 10th of April."

"For what cause?"

"She has a series of legislation concerning Muggleborns' rights in government and their educations in Hogwarts. And there's a list enclosed."

"I didn't think there was a problem with the government or Hogwarts," Kingsley mused.

"Me neither. She doesn't have anyone to back her up, not a committee or anything."

"But this is Hermione Granger we're talking about."

"You know her?"

"I worked with her in the Order; she personally aided Harry Potter in the destruction of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Anything she claims will have a good amount of validity. Can I see the letter?"

Willoughby handed it over and Kingsley gave a long, low whistle. "These are a lot of demands."

"I know. I'll just dispose of the letter and tell her you're busy."

"What are you talking about? We're going to convene. Send notices to the members of the Wizengamot to leave April 10th free."

"The whole day?"

"Well, this is Hermione Granger we're talking about."

* * *

 **April 10, 2001**

Kingsley seated himself in the Minister's chair and surveyed the courtroom as the members of the Wizengamot filed in. The council all sat on intimidating carved stone pews that surrounded the high walls of the chamber, and the cointroducers of the bill got a small, rickety table in the center.

Willoughby sat on his right and Ellie Strauss, Chief Warlock and Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, on his left. He saw Hengist Diggle, the current Head of the Department of Magical Education, arrive in the sea of Heads of Most Ancient and Noble Houses. Even when wearing the elegant, purple Wizengamot robes, the Heads of the Houses looked as stuck up as ever.

Not two minutes after everyone had been seated, the door opened and Hermione Granger entered, toting the thickest Muggle binder Kingsley had ever seen under her arm. She glanced at the council staring down at her from the raised pews. Though she smiled, Kingsley could see her swallow and her eyes flicker worriedly. Diggle glared at her menacingly. Let's hope to Merlin he doesn't tear her to shreds.

"Ms. Hermione Granger," he began, and the last few whispers died out. "You have called for a convention of the Wizengamot to propose a series of bills correcting, repealing, and replacing Wizarding law already in place. Present your case to the council."

"Muggles and Muggleborns have been oppressed and discriminated against in wizarding society since the birth of Merlin himself," Hermione began in a very teacher-like fashion. "Oppressors and warlords such as Gellert Grindelwald and more recently Tom Riddle, also known as Lord Voldemort, have been allowed to rise to power and slaughtered thousands. Prejudices are taught early in many families part of the Sacred 28–"

Offended gasps rang out amongst the Heads of the Houses, and bursts of angry muttering broke out in pockets. Kingsley tapped his wand on the desk in front of him, emitting a loud bang, and boomed, "Silence." When the court obeyed, Hermione started back up again without being asked.

"As I was saying, prejudices are taught early in the families of the Sacred 28 and other wizarding communities as well. Children pass these views onto their peers in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where little to no assistance is given to Muggleborns with no idea – through no fault of their own – how the government is run. The Pureblood children grow up to rise in the ranks of government while Muggleborns hold more menial jobs, and the line of discrimination continues. Thus, our justice system has been for many years biased against Muggleborns in wizard society.

"I want to change this. Just three years prior, we defeated the largest threat to our world seen since Grindelwald and now we are expected to go back to prejudiced government? I refuse to accept these terms. My bills will change the way the government is run, educate Muggleborns on their own government so they can better their lives, and put Muggleborns on the Wizengamot to have an equal balance in the laws made.

"First, let's address Hogwarts. As the only option for magical education in Britain, this is the only option our Muggleborn children have to learn about how to make laws that will impact themselves and countless more to come after them. Yet no opportunities to learn about government are given. Pureblood children are educated by their families on how to become powerful figures in the Ministry, yet Muggleborns have no such option. There is a Muggle Studies class for Purebloods to learn about Muggle culture, which is excellent, but no Pureblood integrates themselves into the Muggle world as fully as Muggleborns do when they are thrown into wizarding society. Thus, it makes it much more important to have a Government Studies course where Muggleborns can be properly educated and given the opportunity to rise to power in the Ministry the same way Purebloods have been able to since the beginning of established society.

"To correct this fundamental flaw, I propose the Wizarding Government Education Bill. A course for Muggleborns will be provided at Hogwarts to provide them with the proper education and skills to be able to get stable positions in government. The course will be mandatory for all students for two years and they can choose to continue the class as an elective onwards. And–" Here, she paused, her eyes glittering as she stared into the eyes of the Heads of Houses. "These courses will be taught by none other than the Heads of the Sacred 28."

A cry of outrage sounded from the pews, which sparked an argument that became louder and louder until Kingsley settled them down. He motioned for Hermione to continue.

"These classes will of course, be supervised by Muggleborn officials until the teachers are deemed satisfactory. Another course we'll offer is Integration. And here is where my second educational bill, the Muggleborn Mandatory Integration Bill, comes in. Here, Muggleborns will be taught about all other aspects of wizarding culture, providing them the aid they need to function in wizarding society as fluently as Pureblooded children. Again, Heads of the Sacred 28 will teach these courses, supervised by Muggleborn officials."

"Now, to address the way the Wizengamot and elections are structured…"

And on and on she went. To fix the imbalance of power in the Wizengamot, she proposed the Equal Council Divide, which would reserve half of the almost fifty positions in the Wizengamot for Muggleborns. This, she explained, would ensure that Muggleborns represented themselves in Wizarding law and could improve the lives of other Muggleborns through their jurisdiction. She also proposed the repeal of Clause 249 (so Muggleborns could finally own Gringotts accounts), Clause 321 (Muggleborns would officially be allowed to teach at Hogwarts), and Clause 479 (Muggleborns could officially run to be Minister of Magic), to name a few.

Kingsley was repeatedly impressed by the efficiency of Hermione's laws, the diligence with which she covered each issue, and the creativity of her solutions. But it seemed not everyone in the Wizengamot could be so easily persuaded.

"Thank you Ms. Granger, if that's all," he announced. A few giggles went through the Wizengamot. "Please step outside so the council can make the verdict." She nodded respectfully and walked out of the room with her head held high.

Immediately after she left, the Wizengamot exploded into a cacophony of arguments and complaints. Kingsley sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

Hermione was called back into the courtroom almost two hours after she'd left. She checked her watch; it was already 6:00 pm.

The door creaked open and a small woman with a nasty grin said, "Ms. Granger, we're ready for you."

She gulped, nodded and stepped inside nervously.

Kingsley looked grave as she sat down and arranged her papers once again. Diggle looked especially smug. This was not going to go well.

"We've reached our verdict. The council has decided that thought you showed exemplary effort, none of your bills, reformations, or repeals can be considered."

"What?! Why?" Hermione cried. She could already feel her throat closing up.

"Lord Greengrass, Head of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Greengrass, has informed me and Chief Warlock Strauss that due to Clause 23 in Section 1 of the Wizengamot Charter of Rights, Muggleborns do not hold the civil liberty to propose, introduce, repeal, or alter any and all laws in wizarding court. The Chief Warlock deemed this a conclusive reason to invalidate your propositions. You are dismissed."

Hermione's jaw dropped as she stared Kingsley in the eyes. Her own began to water, but she swallowed down the emotion long enough to search the man's face for any sign of remorse. His eyes held sympathy, but the words were said so coldly…

Before she embarrassed herself further, Hermione fled the room without another word.

* * *

Sitting on the steps that led up to her and Ron's flat, Hermione had no idea what to do. She'd compiled all the information, come up with ten perfect plans, done every bit of research… except for Section 1 of the Wizengamot Charter of Rights.

How could she have been so stupid as to not check the oldest Wizarding laws in existence? They were sure to be the root of the problem, and she'd forgotten them like an idiot. She let out a sob.

"Hermione Granger?"

She looked up at the small voice, not caring about the tears carving paths down her cheeks or her running nose. She saw a lanky, mousy-looking boy with a face that looked achingly familiar.

"Dennis Creevey," he reminded her. "I was three years below you at Hogwarts."

"Then you must have just graduated," she whispered. "Congratulations."

"Thanks. I just kept thinking about how Colin never got to–" He stopped.

"He volunteered his life to make the world a better place. You wouldn't have done any good by squandering your chance."

"You don't look like your world's been much of a better place lately. Why're you crying?" He sat down next to her, and maybe it was because there was another Muggleborn who seemed to care, or just another person, but Hermione found herself spilling the entire story to the boy. By the end of it, she was sobbing again.

"And Ron and Harry and Ginny don't care and I should've checked Section 1, I was so stupid–"

"Hey. It's the blood-supremacist Wizengamot's fault for denying you this chance. All your bills sounded really put together; you have great ideas. Don't beat yourself up. Yeah, it's tough for us Muggleborns, but we just defeated freaking You-Know-Who! You're Hermione Granger! If there's anything you can't do, it's give up."

"Thanks, Dennis. But how will I go up against the Wizengamot to fight for rights when I don't even have the rights to do that?"

"Well, you were running for Head of the Department of Magical Education, right?" She nodded. "Go back to that. I know you can crush Diggle. Then with that position, you can pass bills of your own, make some Pureblood connections, and they can advocate for you. Your bills will pass eventually, but you can't lay down after the first hit. I know we've been treated completely like trash, and it's so unfair, especially after all you've done for everyone in the war, but if you play this smart, which I know you can do easily, you'll show them to reject your laws."

"That's… an incredibly good plan. You said I need connections, but they don't necessarily need to be all Pureblood. How would you like to be my partner in crime, Dennis? I'd like someone who has your smarts and really understands on my side."

"Really? I-I'd love that."

"Great." They shook hands. "Meet me here tomorrow at nine in the morning. Maybe we'll be called… the Muggleborn Infiltration of Legal Facism."

Dennis laughed. "You might want to rethink that acronym."

Hermione flushed. "Oops. Yeah. I'll think of something. See you tomorrow."

"See you."


	31. Back into the Wind and Snow

**A/N: Written as a short story for Round 5 for Slytherin house in the Houses Competition forum. Also written for Assignment 6 of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry forum for Hufflepuff House.**

 **Prompts:**

 **Houses Competition: 10. [weather] windy**

 **Assignment 6, Media Studies: 6. The Lord of the Rings- write about someone going on a quest**

 **Word count: 1,866**

The only sound he could hear was the blood pounding in his ears. Ron ran away from the men (he'd thought he'd heard someone say "Snatchers") as fast as he could, clutching his wand and the Snatcher's tightly. He was sure the pain in his legs, in his mangled arm, in his entire body, would make him fall and get caught. But his head was filled with his pulse, pounding like a drum beat telling him run, run, run.

Ron finally sprinted into the woods and leaned against a tree, panting for breath. His hearing slowly started coming back and he could hear the voices of the Snatchers following him. Gasping, Ron summoned his last bit of energy and thought "Harry. Hermione. Anywhere." before his body disappeared, with no evidence of his presence left behind besides two fingernails.

Ron fell to the dirt with a groan, managing to land on his good arm before he rolled over and could move no longer. As he regained his senses and the adrenaline slowed down, Ron realized he had nothing besides his and the Snatcher's wands and Dumbledore's Deluminator. He groaned, not in physical pain but in mental torment. He had no food, no water, and worst of all, no company. Why had he decided to leave Harry and Hermione? What had the Horcrux done to him?

He allowed himself ten minutes' rest before forcing himself to his feet. With a shaky Point Me spell, Ron was able to figure out he was only around three miles from the riverbank where he and his friends had been camped earlier. Testing his arm and wincing, Ron could tell Apparating was not an option. Hopefully, he could get there before Harry and Hermione moved camp. He exhaled sharply and started to run.

* * *

The accusations began as murmurs.

 _You couldn't handle it._

They were just passing, tiny concepts that didn't disturb him all that much.

 _Poor ickle Ronny, always overshadowed. Always shoved to the side._

But as he spent days in wind, in rain, in snow, always waiting, waiting, waiting for signs of life, the voices grew louder. They fed on loneliness, on isolation. And they built empires of misery inside him.

 _Your mother wanted a daughter and you couldn't even provide her with that!_

His despair grew as he Apparated from town to river to hill to field to another town to the sea shore until it felt like he'd explored all of the United Kingdom with no luck in his quest to find his friends. It was almost as if Harry and Hermione didn't want him back, didn't want him to find them. Of course, he reasoned, they didn't want anyone to find them, but that didn't stop the vices from twisting that feeling into a much more sinister notion.

 _Hermione chose Harry over you, you know. They're perfectly happy without you. They're glad to be rid of you. They are celebrating, laughing at you, at your stupidity, and thanking Merlin you've finally realized you're nothing more than a hindrance._

And after a few more days of destitute wandering, he thought the voices rather sounded like a Horcrux, molding his mind with fear into something it wanted. The idea should have scared him, but maybe the scary part was that it didn't. He dismissed the entire thing anyway.

 _You do realize you've never been wanted?_

He knew he was going insane. Maybe this is how it will end, he thought. I'll end up floating around in my own head until I starve to death.

But he didn't. Instead, he remembered something, something that seemed from another life, one without this loneliness and the grayness of winter. Oddly, it was a thing Dumbledore, the man he'd resented for sending them on this wild goose chase, had said: "Happiness can be found even in the darkest of times if one remembers to turn on the light."

Light. Dumbledore. Light. Ron turned the thing over in his foggy head. His hand strayed to his pocket, where he felt a small, cold, slim rectangle. His thumb moved automatically, and with a click, light filled his charm-enclosed area. The small, glowing orbs were harvested long ago, from one of their first weeks in the tent. It was odd how, now, he missed its lingering smell of wet clothes and cat. It had become the musty scent of home.

He stared at the lights, and they filled him with warmth, despite the raging wind and and snow outside. It had been so long since he'd experienced anything near electricity. It'd been so long since he'd had anything resembling a home. _Thank Dumbledore._

But now that he'd had his first taste, Ron wanted more. Finding Harry and Hermione had proved impossible, and though he detested the thought, he needed to move on. But where would he possibly go? He needed food, water, and shelter, preferably somewhere with light and people. A pub?

In the distance, he could hear singers through the howling wind, some of them sounding drunkenly slurred. The songs were Muggle, but familiar. Christmas carols?

It was Christmas. Ron laughed and his voice strained painfully, as if it had forgotten how to. Christmas. The thought was absurd.

As Ron packed up and made his way towards the carolers, his head was filled with memories of his Mum's cooking, his father's horrible tastes in music, snowball fights with Fred and George, stealing cookies with Ginny, making paper chains with Bill–

Bill! He and Fleur had a house by the sea! Bill and Ron had never been close in age, but his eldest brother had always felt a responsibility over his siblings and with Ron being the youngest boy, they were close enough that Bill would take him in.

Ron didn't know where he was or Bill's address, but his arm had healed and he knew it was a doable hike from the Burrow. He could Disapparate and be there… tonight.

Smiling with new optimism, Ron packed up his minimal belongings in a minute flat and concentrated on the smell of mincemeat pie and the sound of Celestina Warbeck before turning on his heel. _Take me home._

* * *

Fleur had screamed and cried when he'd first arrived, thinking the worst. But when Ron had explained his situation, she was nothing short of cordial. Bill seemed happy to see his brother alive, but the disappointment was evident on his face. Ron felt almost more alone at Shell Cottage than he had while on the run.

Once he'd explained out loud that no, Harry and Hermione were not dead, he'd just abandoned them and had no place to go, Ron had to agree that he'd hate himself too. There was no smiling, laughter, or small talk during his stay (though the war had started that anyway). There was only endless speculation about how to get back to his friends and Fleur's cooking, but Ron wasn't complaining. Besides being much better off than he'd been on the run, there was Potterwatch.

It was a radio program run by Fred, George and Lee that told the public the actual happenings in the wizarding world. It was terrifying to think of his brothers and friend being on the run as well, but Fred and George protected themselves well: A password was needed to turn into each broadcast, they used code names, and Bill, who'd learned about it through the Order, informed him that they changed locations every day so they wouldn't be found.

It became a ritual of the inhabitants of Shell Cottage to gather around Bill's old wireless and listen, even though the broadcasts were some of the most anxious hours of Ron's life. Reports of attacks, Muggle massacres, and You-Know-Who's growing ranks were stressful enough to hear, but the entire cottage seemed to hold its breath with the family when the deaths were listed off.

 _"This week, we honor Araminta Elphick, Horace Penniford, Alberic Abbott, and Herbert Engel,"_ Lee's voice announced. _"May they rest in peace. A moment of silence, please."_

Bill, Fleur and Ron remained stonily silent as they each honored the dead and simultaneously thanked Merlin that no one they knew had been listed.

 _"They will not be forgotten."_ Fred's voice crackled through the wireless, breaking the mournful quiet. _"Harry Potter is still on the run, and nobody knows where."_ Ron breathed out a sigh of relief he hadn't known he'd been holding in. _"We know he is working hard to defeat You-Know-Who once and for all. Tomorrow's password is Lily. We remind you all to have hope and practice constant vigilance. Thank you and good night."_

The harsh static soon dissipated, signaling the end of the program. Bill exhaled and packed it up without a word before going into his and Fleur's room. Fleur followed him, leaving Ron alone at the kitchen table.

 _"He is working hard to defeat You-Know-Who once and for all."_ Fred's words echoed in his mind.

 _You were working with them. You'd been useful,_ a voice whispered. _But you abandoned them. Couldn't take it, could you? You knew you just weren't good enough_.

"But I am," Ron mumbled, not realizing he was speaking aloud. "I am good enough."

 _Don't lie to yourself. You quit when the going got tough and couldn't fix your mistake._

"I tried."

 _That wasn't good–_

"Ron?" He was shaken from the voices' pull when Bill called to him. "Did you say something?"

"Nothing," he replied. "I'm just tired, I guess." He darted up the stairs to his room and shut the door.

His body moved of its own accord towards the Deluminator and clicked it without thinking. The light from the tent shot out once more, hovering around him in a very Pigwidgeon-like fashion. He smiled at it.

 _"Ron…"_

He whirled, but he was sure he was alone. "Who's there?"

 _"...wand…"_

He listened closer, and the voice seemed familiar. The words repeated themselves once, and something jogged Ron's memory– it was Hermione! Again, she said "Ron" and he felt the Deluminator in his hand vibrate. He held it up to his ear and was astonished to find that her voice was coming out of the Deluminator. But after only a minute, the voice faded and Ron was left with an empty feeling in his chest. Sighing dejectedly, he clicked the Deluminator once more.

But the orb didn't go back into the device. Suddenly, it glowed blue, like a Portkey. Ron stepped back in alarm, wand out automatically. The ball of light flew at him and he cried out and tried to dodge it but failed. It collided right with the left side of his chest.

Instead of the expected burn, Ron felt warmth spread throughout his body, originating from his heart, where the ball had collided. He closed his eyes and hummed in contentment. An image of a wildly windy plain covered in snow flashed across his closed eyelids. Ron opened his eyes and started packing immediately. The image had shown him almost exactly where Harry and Hermione were. He felt like the orb's light was pulsing through his veins, urging him back to his friends. He left Bill and Fleur a note and Disapparated back into the wind and snow.


	32. Black

**A/N: Written for Round 5 of the Houses Competition forum as a drabble for Slytherin House.**

 **Prompt: 6. [Colour] Black**

 **Word count: 325**

Severus rubbed the cloth of his robes between his fingers. He looked at it. Black. How he loved the color.

He'd worn black for as long as he could remember. Black band t-shirts as a kid, black Hogwarts robes, black leather jackets and combat boots as a late teen. Once he and Lily had broken off their friendship, the black of the Death Eater robes had signified unity, and wearing them meant he was part of a group that wouldn't treat him quite as much like scum as the rest of the world. It meant the closest thing to a family he ever had.

Black was also comforting outside of clothing. The elegant yet rough sheen of a new, cast-iron cauldron gave Severus a satisfaction he would never admit. The darkness of night in the hours between midnight and the witching hour created an ethereal universe that was entirely for you, and made you feel like the world was yours for taking (a sensation Severus had never experienced much). Even wrapping yourself behind the black of blankets or closed eyelids gave you a safe cocoon, in which you would not have to worry about seeing anything you didn't want to.

But Severus only indulged in these kind of sappy thoughts because he was entering an experience of a new black. The black of death.

He'd never thought about black in terms of death, and one would expect the negative connotations of dying to taint his perception of the color. But Severus found that black was a fitting color to assign to death, not because it was ominous or evil, but because (at least for him) it signified warmth, contentment, and home.

And so, laying here on the stone cold dirt floor of the infamous Shrieking Shack, with snake venom penetrating his blood, Severus welcomed the thought of death. And soon, he stepped into the dark, warm embrace, and death was a mere thought no longer.


	33. A Concert

**A/N: Written as a short story for Round 6 of the Houses Competition forum for Slytherin House.**

 **Prompt: 4. [setting] concert**

 **Word count: 1,914**

November, 1975

Lily packed up her books hurriedly, just wanting to go back to the common room and get lost in a book. The day had been horrible. She'd failed to turn her porcupine into a pincushion; it still had one quill, and while she did better than most of the class, stupid Potter had gotten it right on the first try. Then he'd asked her out – again – in the Great Hall, and of course, people found it hilarious. Due to this, Lily couldn't concentrate in History of Magic, so she'd missed the day's notes, and so she started worrying she'd fail her OWLs, and–

Ugh. It was just one of those days. She wanted nothing more than to be alone.

She shouldered her bag and turned to find someone in a green tie standing right behind her. Severus.

"What do you want?" she snapped. Severus was taken aback by her sharpness. "Sorry," Lily sighed. "It's… been a rough day."

"That's okay," he said quietly. "I have something that might cheer you up." She looked at him dubiously. "It's not anything you wouldn't approve of."

"It doesn't have anything to do with Mulciber or any of those guys?"

"No, no, they wouldn't be caught dead in something like this. Besides, they're not that bad." Lily opened her mouth to argue, but Severus cut her off. "Trust me. Just… come on." And with that, he grabbed her hand and led her out of the classroom.

"Severus– Where– are we– going?" she muttered. The greasy-haired boy dragged her into an abandoned classroom that looked for all the dust that it hadn't been used in at least a decade. Lily groaned and set down her heavy bag as Severus turned away. "Okay, what did you drag me all the way here for?"

With a flourish, he pulled two somethings out of his pocket and waved them in the air with bright eyes. "These."

Lily's eyes widened. Those couldn't be what she thought they were. She stepped forward and snatched one out of her friend's hand. Her surly demeanor vanished immediately. They were.

"You got Queen tickets?!" she screeched.

"Yup." Severus grinned proudly.

"How? These are crazy expensive. Wait." Her expression turned suspicious. "How did you get these?"

"Called in a few favors. Nothing crazy," Severus assured her. "I was thinking we could go over Christmas break? I usually stay here, but I'll go if you will. What'd'you think?" he asked nervously.

"Of course I'll go with you! I'd be insane to pass this up! Oh my Merlin, Sev! Thank you!" She ran up and hugged him.

Severus stiffened for a minute and then awkwardly put his arms around her. "You're welcome."

Lily laughed as she pulled away. "I can't believe we're going to see Queen! This is incredible!" She gazed at the ticket in wonder.

Severus looked down at the floor. "Yeah, but Lily? Would you mind not telling anyone about this?"

Her smile drooped. "Why? Do you have a precious reputation to uphold with your Slytherin friends? Would they be completely devastated to find you going to a Muggle concert with a Muggleborn?" Lily glared and raised an eyebrow.

"Well, kind of," Severus mumbled.

"I cannot believe you," Lily grumbled. She picked up her bag and turned away. "I'll see you at the concert."

"Wait," Severus called.

Lily turned, annoyed. "What?"

"I– I know we haven't been hanging out as much as we used to, and you don't approve of my friends, and we've grown apart. But, you're still my best friend. And I still want to be your friend. It's just that these guys are also important to me, because they're in my House and it's nice to have friends you can see more often. You know I don't believe in that blood purity shite." He looked at her pleadingly. "So, are we at least mostly still good?" He held out his hand to shake.

Lily thought of what her friends said about Severus and he other Slytherins, what she wanted to say. _They're your real friends,_ she thought. _They wouldn't hang out with blood supremacists and claim they were "not that bad"._

"You know I don't believe in that blood purity shite," he'd said. _But the problem is, you hang around people who do, and worst of all, you look past it._

Lily exhaled through her nose and frowned. But she held out her hand to shake and maybe squeezed harder than usual. "Mostly good." She picked up her bag again and went out the door. "See you at the concert," she repeated.

* * *

December 20, 1975

Tonight was the night. Her mum had given her the all-clear, she'd picked out her outfit, and despite their last encounter, Lily was excited to spend the night with her old friend. Besides, with Queen there, it couldn't possibly be a bad night.

Smoothing down the bright green dress, Lily slipped into her flats and donned her coat. Making sure the ticket was in her coat pocket, she went down the stairs, and her parents wished her a good time while Petunia gave her the now-customary glare in farewell. Lily walked to the end of the block, where Severus was already waiting in a faded Queen T-shirt, a leather jacket, and jeans tucked into combat boots. Lily felt slightly overdressed, but she walked confidently towards her friend. "Nice shirt," she said by way of greeting.

Severus turned. "Oh, thanks. You look nice." He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Shall we?"

"How are we getting there, by the way?" Lily asked, looking around. They couldn't apparate yet, and a floo wasn't available.

"Stand back," Severus said, motioning for her to stand on the sidewalk. She complied and he stuck his right arm out into the road. Then there was a startling bang and faster than she could blink, a purple triple-decker bus was right in front of Lily's eyes.

"What just happened?" she murmured.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. Just stick out your wand hand, step on board, and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is Lainey Adamsen, and I will be your conductor this evening." A young man with curly blond hair and a huge nose stepped off the bus and looked at the two teens– a red-haired girl standing in shock and a sullen, lanky boy looking unimpressed and almost bored. "And where are you two off to?" he asked with a wink. Lily cringed.

"Hammersmith Odeon," Severus said dully.

"Alright, that'll be twenty sickles for the both of you, but for an extra six, we'll give you–"

Severus cut the guy off by handing him the twenty sickles and stepping past him onto the bus, taking Lily's hand and dragging her on with him. The conductor looked miffed, but took the money and told the bus driver, a short, graying man named Ernie Prang, to "take her away". Lily had just gotten seated on one of the oddly placed plush chairs when the bus took off like a shot and she slid back. Above, she could hear the scrapes of other such furniture sliding across the floors as well.

The bus was unlike any she'd ever been on. With a few beds scattered between the seats, the machine apparated across the English countryside, and the driver seemed so uncoordinated that lampposts, mailboxes, and fire hydrants actually jumped out of the way to avoid the bus.

"I suppose Muggles can't see any of this," Lily muttered. Severus shook his head no. "How'd you find out about this? I've never heard of its existence."

"A friend told me about it, and I've since used it a couple of times. The cheapest way to travel, though some might prefer to spend the extra money to not lose their last meal on the way," he commented as the bus made another lurch into a busy London street.

"You didn't have to pay the fee, you already got the tickets–" Lily started.

"Don't worry about it. I won a few bets."

"Does a lot of gambling happen in the Slytherin common room?" she asked, half-joking.

"You'd be surprised," Severus muttered.

After a nauseating fifteen more minutes, Lainey finally announced, "Hammersmith Odeon!" Severus and Lily stood up and made their way gratefully onto solid ground. A crowd had already formed in front of the venue, with people shouting in futile attempts to get themselves in sooner. Lily clutched Severus's hand tightly as he pushed into the throng, navigating the crowd with ease. Sooner than Lily would have thought possible, they were at the ticket booth.

Severus and Lily handed over their tickets to the lady inside the booth, who punched a hole in them and directed them to the jam-packed doors. Once again, with Severus's navigational skills, they made it to their seats in record time. The band was getting set up and the lights hadn't dimmed yet, so you could easily identify each of them.

"Oh my Merlin, there's Roger Taylor! And Brian May! And– holy crap– Freddie Mercury!" Lily cried, pointing them each out as if Severus wasn't looking at the stage with equal interest.

"Keep your voice down with the wizard talk, and in general. We can't have Muggles knowing Banshees exist."

Lily giggled, already too exhilarated to take offense. "Shut up!" she laughed.

Just then, the band finished and the lights dimmed. The crowd shrieked, the roars of rock and roll fans drowning out Lily's voice to her own ears.

"Thank you, thank you everybody," Freddie Mercury said into the microphone, which just made the crowd scream louder. "Happy Christmas to you all. We hope you'll enjoy the show. Let's get rockin'!"

The crowd whooped and cheered as the first notes of Death on Two Legs began to play. Then they played Lazing on a Sunday Afternoon, then I'm in Love with My Car, and it when on and on and on. Soon, the entire audience was on their feet, belting out the long since memorized lyrics at the tops of their lungs. And to conclude the night, they played Bohemian Rhapsody.

" _Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy? Caught in a landslide; No escape from reality…_ "

Lily looked at Severus as the quartet started singing. He was swaying a little to the music, and his lips moved just slightly enough for her to tell he was mouthing the lyrics. She'd never seen him this relaxed, this carefree before, like a normal teenager.

"Hey Sev," she whispered.

He turned. "Yeah? Enjoying the music?"

"Definitely."

He nodded and went back to swaying. Lily bit her lip.

"Hey Sev?"

"Yeah, Lily?"

"We'll always be friends, no matter what, right? Even after graduation and all that?"

The boy was drawn out of the universe of Queen for a minute. He remembered his life back at Hogwarts. He thought of Lily and the people he'd fallen in with, so different from each other it was almost as if they were from different lifetimes. He thought about what his Slytherin friends were doing after graduation, how he was thinking of joining them. But he'd already drifted from Lily once, and he couldn't bear the thought of life without her. It couldn't happen again.

"Of course," he replied, and gave her a small smile. She returned it and they went back to swaying.

" _A little high, little low; Anyway the wind blows, doesn't really matter to me, to me…_ "


	34. Professor Kettleburn

**A/N: Written for the Houses Competition forum's rond 6 for Slytherin House as a drabble.**

 **Prompt: 6. [Professor] Silvanus Kettleburn**

 **Word count: 499**

* * *

For the first time ever, Rubeus thought he was actually going to enjoy school. This was the first time he'd go to a class he was actually interested in. Due to his excitement (and elongated strides) Rubeus made it to the grounds first.

The professor was setting up something for class when Rubeus got there.

"Uh, sir, what've you got there?" Rubeus asked quietly. Even so, the teacher jumped.

"Oh! Hello," he said, glancing up at Rubeus. When he saw the Slytherin tie, however, he smiled. "You must be from my next class. I'm Professor Kettleburn."

Rubeus nodded. "I'm Rubeus, Rubeus Hagrid."

"I was just setting up. These are bowtruckles." He stepped back so Rubeus could look through the slats of the crate. Little green creatures scrabbled along tiny trees in the wooden box. "I was trying to get one of them to stand still on my hand, but they're not budging."

"Can I help?" Rubeus blurted.

Kettleburn raised his eyebrows. "Well, son, it's just… They need to trust you, see? I've been trying to get them on my palm for fifteen minutes now."

Rubeus nodded sullenly. He turned away when Kettleburn called, "Wait. I can see you're a dedicated kid. Why don't you give it a go?"

"Really?" The professor nodded.

"Be real gentle, now. They might not take to you imme–" In the time he'd taken to speak, Rubeus had already coaxed one of the bowtruckles onto his palm and was holding it up so it could hop on his shoulder. Kettleburn stared, dumbfounded. "How–?"

"I learn pretty quick," Rubeus mumbled as he crooned at the little green creature.

Kettleburn looked on at the boy smiling and laughing when the bowtruckle chattered. After a time, he asked, "You got many friends, lad?"

Rubeus's cheerfulness faded at once. "No, sir," he mumbled. "I intimidate people, I think. Just my toad, Wallace."

"Well, consider me a friend. Kids are just close-minded and scared from what their parents tell them."

Rubeus flushed. "Thank you, sir."

"Sure. You know what? I have something I could give you." He dug around in his robe pockets and pulled out an egg. "I went to a Muggle farm and got a fertilized chicken egg yesterday. It just needs to be incubated at around 38 degrees and turned five times a day, and it should hatch in about three weeks. If you come by on the weekends I can help."

Rubeus cupped his hands and Kettleburn gave it to him delicately. "Thank you," he breathed. "I'll do my best."

"I'll be expecting to see the results next month." The professor winked and turned to the tide of third years that just arrived.

Rubeus stared at the man in shock. No one had ever volunteered to spend time with him as friends, much less give him a gift. He smiled and carefully pocketed the egg and went to join the rest of the class. Oh yes, he was going to be enjoying school a lot more.

* * *

 **Yeah, I've always imagined Hagrid as a Slytherin (the Ministry would be looking for a Slytherin to open the Chamber of Secrets and the future Lord Voldemort, as a Slytherin Prefect, wouldn't be concerned with anyone outside of his own House). Plus it's nice to have good guy in our House for once ;) It seemed fitting for Hagrid to be close with the CoMC teacher, especially after his father died. I can only imagine his pride at being able to take over the position in Harry's third year. *tears up* Lemme know what your thoughts are!**


	35. The Rise of Barty Crouch

**A/N: Written as a themed story for Slytherin House for the Houses Competition forum's round 6.**

 **Prompt: [first line] Of all the people I could have seen against me in this fight... My child was the one I wanted least.**

 **Word count: 2,822**

* * *

Barty Crouch Sr. POV

November 2, 1981

Of all the people I could have seen against me in this fight... My child was the one I wanted least.

How could he hurt my image like this?

* * *

October 30, 1975

"Hey, Crouch." The Head of the DMLE, Hoffman, poked his head into the cubicle.

"What now?" Barty asked.

"Can you take a look at this?" He came in uninvited and dropped a thick file onto the desk.

"Can't a Auror do it?"

"The Aurors are stretched thin as ever; you know that. Look through the damn file, do your research on this, and report back if you find anything useful. Maybe, if you stop this, you'll get that promotion you've been hoping for."

"Well, what do you–" His boss left. "... Mean." Barty sighed and opened the file. Apparently, suspected Death Eaters had been meeting in a number of suspicious locations that formed a pattern around the Big Ben. The Auror who'd been working on the case previously had thought there would be an attack on the landmark, but had no idea when. Barty guessed it was his job to figure that out.

He sighed again. The Aurors had been doing this for five years. They'd start cases to figure out attacks beforehand or try to find out if someone was a secret Death Eater, and then someone else would find incriminating evidence on another guy and they'd have to take care of that, leaving people like Barty at the DMLE to deal with their abandoned research.

This case has given him zero leads on when the Death Eaters would strike. Excellent.

If only we could just bring these guys in for questioning, Barty thought. Then I wouldn't have to do this and we could just throw the suspects in holding cells. Merlin knows the Wizengamot has way too much veritaserum on their hands.

Wait. He sat up and stared into space, his mind racing. If we could have a justice system where we just bring in anyone who is suspicious, it'd create less work for us in the DMLE, and Aurors would be able to round more people up. The Wizengamot would bring the people in for questioning under veritaserum and have trials, and we'll have Azkaban full to the brim within a year, at most.

Barty stood up and ran off to the Head's office. He barged in uninvited.

"Crouch! What are you doing here? I'm in the middle of a meeting here, and I have no time for your complaints about work! We're all working overtime here!" Hoffman shouted.

"But sir, I have a plan!" Barty insisted, ignoring the aghast looks from Hoffman's associates.

"You can't have possibly found something on that report already!" the Head pressed.

"I still think we should take the suspects into questioning! As soon as possible!"

"On what grounds?!" Hoffman's face was beet red.

"We'll just question them under veritaserum, and if they plead innocent, we'll let them go; if not, then another cell in Azkaban is filled! What's the problem with that?"

"'What's the problem with that'?! The problem is, that's not how our government, how a democracy, works. We can't bring someone in against their will with no evidence to back it up."

"But–"

"Besides, veritaserum?! Are you out of your mind?! A person must consent to taking the potion before we can administer it! And if these guys don't, then what have you got now?"

"I doubt that's true," Barty said dubiously.

Hoffman did a double take. "Are you questioning me – the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement – on how the law works?"

"Perhaps so. And even if you're right, then why can't we change the law?"

"That's absurd! Get out of my office!"

Barty opened his mouth to retort, but another idea came to him and the anger flickered out of his gaze, replaced by smug satisfaction. "Very well. Good day, sir. Gentlemen, ladies," he said politely, nodding to the stunned, suited businesspeople.

The lawyer made his way out of the Head's office and walked briskly to another office: that of the Minister of Magic. This time, he waited respectfully for the man to be finished with his meeting before entering.

The people who make things happen are those in power, his mother always used to say. So there is one way to make change: to become powerful. You can do this one of two ways: You get on the powerful people's good side; be polite, respectful, make them feel like they are still holding the power they're so accustomed to over your head. Make your ideas seem like theirs and have them make the changes you want to see. This way, if anything goes wrong, that person will receive the blame. Slowly, you become the person's closest correspondent, and manipulate them from the inside without anyone realizing. Then there's the other option: faster, but more brutal. You will break more than a few fingernails and ruffle many feathers, but in the end you are the one in power. How do you do this? Well, you simply take the power yourself.

Barty then made a vow to himself: no one would stand in the way of his success.

"You can do this one of two ways," Mother had said. Barty smirked. Well, I'm going to do both.

* * *

Later that day

"I'm so glad you called this hearing so soon, Barty," Minister Melvin said. "We need as many Death Eaters rounded up as possible."

"Of course, sir," he agreed. "And the Aurors did an amazing job rounding up the suspects so quickly. Just glad to help."

"Excellent, lad." They walked into the elevator together and went down to the ninth floor, where Courtroom Nine was located. "By the way, how'd you find the evidence? We've had our best Aurors working on that case for months."

"Oh, well, I was thinking, and I thought, why don't we bring the suspects to hearings whenever we think there is something that should be inspected?"

"But without evidence?" The Minister squinted suspiciously.

"Oh, of course, they'd have to have been partaking in suspicious behaviour, such as if a civilian or an Auror reports something they have found. In this case, we have both, so I thought I'd appeal to my superior, but when he turned me down, I went to you. I know you are a kind and fair man, and I'm still very grateful to you for hearing me out."

"Oh, nonsense." Melvin waved the compliment off, but laughed. "I'm just trying to keep Britain safe. And now that I think about it, your plan makes perfect sense. It would create less work for the Auror and law enforcement departments alike, saving money and time, and the cells in Azkaban could be filled within–"

"–a year at most," Barty chimed in. "I was thinking the exact same thing, sir."

"The only reservation I have is the veritaserum. That's powerful stuff, and people deserve to have a say in what they put into their bodies."

"Even if the people in question are criminals? Terrorists, even? It would be for the good of the country."

Melvin chuckled nervously. "Let's not throw around that word too lightly, Crouch."

"What, 'terrorist'? Minister, with all due respect, that is what these Death Eaters are. And I for one prioritize the safety of the citizens of Wizarding Britain over calling terrorists mere 'criminals' to spare their feelings."

"Of course, of course. All the people in this building care about the safety of our citizens, Crouch. But veritaserum… I'll get back to you on that."

"Right, sir. I am sorry, I just get carried away when it comes to justice."

"Yes, well. I'll talk to you after the hearing."

Barty nodded and stepped out of the elevator behind Melvin. They walked in awkward silence before Melvin finally asked, "Uh, don't you have somewhere to be, son?"

"Oh, did they not tell you? I'm the prosecutor."

Barty stepped into Courtroom Nine with a smirk, too smug to notice the Minister sitting down next to Hoffman and muttering, "Keep an eye on that one. Crouch."

"Has he caused trouble, sir?" Hoffman asked.

"No. I was just wondering if I should promote him." Before Hoffman could reply, Melvin announced, "Let us begin. Prosecutor Crouch, will you…"

* * *

October 31, 1975

Barty Crouch Sr. got to work immensely satisfied with the hearing that had taken place the day before. The five suspects had pleaded guilty under veritaserum and been sent to Azkaban that same day. He'd gotten home late and tired, but it was all worth it. He was sure the Minister would be approaching him right about… now.

"Ah, Crouch!" Melvin's voice boomed across the Atrium right on time. "I was wondering when you'd be coming in. Please, join me in my office." As he was led away, Barty smirked pompously at all his coworkers staring at him.

"I really love the way you handled yourself in that hearing yesterday," Melvin said once they were in his very large, cushy office. "The way you got them to consent to veritaserum was pure genius."

"Oh, why thank you," Barty said. This is going better than I thought.

"I think you could do great things for Britain with a little push. And I've decided to give you it." Melvin leaned back. "I've decided to make you head of a committee of DMLE workers that will do exactly what you did yesterday, working in direct correspondence with one of our best Aurors who, I must say, was quite thrilled by the idea. You'll look through cases the other Aurors have left and try to find evidence to convict them using research and reports from civilians. If you can't find anything, have an Auror tail the suspect until they find something good."

"Oh, thank you so much, sir. This is exactly what we need. It will be an honor to be at the head of it all. But, um, who exactly is this prestigious Auror I'll be working with?"

"Let me show you." The Minister smiled and led Barty to a space on the third floor. Desks, chairs, and records were already set up with DMLE workers at each table. A few Aurors, marked by the red robes they wore when not in combat, ambled around as well. And, leading them, was none other than…

"Mad– er, Alastor Moody!" Barty exclaimed.

"Yup," Melvin said. "He is quite passionate. I'm sure you both will get along fine. I'll leave you to it."

Melvin left and Barty held out his hand to shake. Moody didn't take it. Instead he said in a gravelly voice, "I heard you were all about rounding those Death Eater scum up. Asked Melvin if I could be a part of this committee and he said yes. That's why I'm here: to fill up Azkaban. I'm expecting you to pull your fair share of the work, Crouch. I don't mess around, Crouch," he finished with a growl.

"Neither do I," Barty said steadily, looking the man straight in his one good eye. After a long pause, Moody finally held his hand out to shake.

"Fine, then. I have a tough case that I want you to join. I put everyone else on other cases already." He limped to a small, more secluded area that Barty guessed was his sort of office here.

"Crispin O'Malley," Moody growled. "The guy's been meeting with dirt like the Malfoys and the Blacks for at least three years, but he's real good at clearing his tracks. My superior says we 'don't have enough definite evidence' seeing as neither Abraxas Malfoy nor Orion Black are confirmed Death Eaters. In my opinion, if you hang around with scum like that, you deserve to be locked up."

"I was thinking the same thing," Barty jumped in. "Ideally, we could round up anyone suspicious and have them be put under veritaserum. It would weed out the Death Eaters from decent people real quick."

Moody looked at him sideways. "I think you may be onto something, Crouch." He gave him a gruesome smile. "I think we'll grow to become quite accquainted with each other."

Barty smiled back. "So do I."

* * *

December 24, 1975

"Cell in Azkaban half-filled thanks to Crouch and Moody," Barty said happily. "What'd'you think of that, Mad-Eye?!"

"I think you're getting bloated on attention," he called back good-naturedly. They were the only ones left in the committee office as it was so late.

"Citizens clamor for Crouch and Moody to become Heads of respective departments," Barty continued, ignoring his coworker.

Moody snorted. "That's a pipe dream. As if I'd ever consider being a department head."

"Why not? I'd definitely appreciate a promotion."

"Then take it. That's not for me." Moody leaned back in his chair and took a swig from his flask.

"The election is coming up," Barty muttered. He glanced back at his noted on O'Malley. Suddenly, a sentence stood out to him. Bought a vial of a mysterious substance that looked like basilisk venom… "Mad-Eye."

"What?"

"O'Malley potentially bought a vial of basilisk venom. That's illegal." He stood. "If we can get him to confess in a courtroom, we can have him in Azkaban for at least a few months."

"You're a genius. We'll round him up tomorrow."

"No, Mad-Eye, we'll do it now. There have to be some Aurors working overtime on paperwork that are bored out of their minds and would do this for us."

"I think you just described me, but without the part where I'd do it," Moody said, sighing as Barty ran off anyway. And to think he has a kid and wife and it's Christmas Eve. Merlin help me.

* * *

March 3, 1976

"Barty Crouch! How's that new office feel?" Melvin said cheerfully.

Barty laid his hand on the plaque that read Bartemius Crouch Sr.; Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. "Very good, sir. Thank you again for appointing me."

"You deserved it."

"I actually have something I wanted to show you. Here." Barty sat up and took a file out of his desk. Melvin took it and frowned.

"The Veritaserum Mandation Bill? Barty, isn't this going a little far?"

"Don't worry, the Wizengamot still needs to approve its use first. Can you run it by the council by the end of the week?"

"I'll try, but this seems like a stretch."

"Well, I'm confident. I'm Head of the DMLE; I'm on the top of the world!"

Melvin smiled. "I'll get right on it. Enjoy yourself, Barty. Maybe you could finally take a day off now."

"Why in Merlin's name would I do that?"

* * *

November 1, 1981

"As Death Eater attacks become more and more frequent, the people of magical Britain clamor for Barty Crouch, Sr. to become Minister of Magic," the day's Prophet.

"I can't believe we let Cinolly slip through our fingers like that!" Barty was ranting to Moody. "And on a technicality! Ugh!"

"Maybe you need to take a break. We've just won the biggest war in Wizarding history, for Merlin's sake! You've been working nonstop for six straight years, and in that time alone, you've become the Head of the DMLE, passed dozens of reform bills, and put countless Death Eaters in Azkaban," Moody placated. "We'll round this guy up later. Let's celebrate! I'm retiring, and you're about to become Minister of Magic!"

"I can't let a Death Eater go! Listen to yourself! That piece of filth need sot be extinguished off the face of the Earth like all the others!"

"Woah. Calm down."

Barty turned to face his long-time friend. "Did you just tell me to calm down? I am your superior now! You can't tell me what to do! Get out of my office and let me catch the Death Eater myself, if you won't help!"

Moody raised his eyebrow and hobbled out obediently. "I'm just saying, maybe you should take a break and go home to your family. To Crouch Jr."

"They're not as important right now. I thought I told you to leave!"

The door slammed shut and Barty was alone in his large, mahogany office. Which suited him just fine.

* * *

November 2, 1981

Barty couldn't believe his child had betrayed him like this. After all he'd stood for, after all he'd accomplished, his son was going to throw it away?! Theresa, the mother of the child, sobbed in the corner, but Barty paid her no mind. He'd made a vow, and he was a man of his word. If his own son was standing between him and the position of Minister, there was nothing he could do about that.

"You are sentenced to a lifetime in Azkaban for your heinous crimes," he decreed.

The crowd gasped. Barty Crouch Jr. screamed for mercy. Theresa cried, "My son!"

Barty inhaled sharply and locked eyes with the pitiful boy being carried away. "I have no son!"


	36. Anchor

**A/N: Written for round 7 of the Houses Competition forum for Slytherin House as a themed story.**

 **Prompt: 8. [pairing] Ron/Dean**

 **Word count: 2,040**

Ron glanced around the grounds of Hogwarts nervously. He was thrilled to be back for a normal year after the horrific events during the Second Wizarding War, but that didn't mean he wasn't on his toes. Especially today. Today was April Fool's day.

Besides expecting some sinister behavior from the population of You-Know-Who followers still at large, Ron had also grown up with Fred and George. He remembered (all too vividly) the pranks the two had pulled over the years, and it hurt him to think about the duo now when Fred was…

He cleared his throat. _Don't cry, not now, not now,_ he told himself as he wiped his face. Anyway, he had nothing to worry about now — his brother was long since out of Hogwarts, and… well, depressed, to say the least. Ron could only imagine how hard the day must be for George, who still lived in the Burrow, coping as best he could.

The point was, he thought, berating himself for getting swept up in memories of the past, he really was being ridiculous. He was not going to get pranked. It wasn't happening.

Besides, he should enjoy this day. He was meeting up with Dean.

Ron and Dean's relationship had grown under… unexpected circumstances. They had both been part of the few in their year who had returned to Hogwarts after the War. People mostly kept to themselves, grieving and fighting their own lasting demons the best they could, until they were all lumped together in one common room. This had caused many unexpected friendships to develop, including Ron and Dean's.

It had been Halloween, and Harry had shut himself in his four-poster, understandably, of course. Ron had thought it best to leave him alone and had gone down to the common room to sit by the fireplace. It turned out Dean was already there. Talking to… no one.

The dark-skinned boy was sitting directly in front of the fire, curling into the warmth with his arms wrapped around his knees. He rocked back and forth with his eyes closed, and as Ron got closer, he could see beads of sweat on Dean's forehead glinting in the firelight. "I'm sorry," he kept whispering. "I am so sorry."

"Who are you apologizing to?" Ron interrupted.

His eyes snapped open, and, looking panicked, Dean whirled around. "No one," he replied quickly – a little too quickly. "There's no one here."

"I'm here," Ron said, sitting down. "Talk to me."

"You probably don't want to know," he mumbled, looking down and picking at the carpet.

Ron raised an eyebrow. "Yes, I do. I have known you for seven years, seven long and traumatic years, and if something is bothering you, I want to know about it."

Dean took a heavy, shuddering breath. And the story came pouring out of him. "It's been a year since I left. Hogwarts, I mean." He coughed. "They were rounding up Muggleborns. I had no way to prove there was a drop of magical blood in me, so I knew I'd have to run eventually. But I was putting it off. For Seamus.

"He didn't seem… normal. Ever since fifth year. He's a light-hearted person and not very good at dealing with emotions all the time; things like the news of You-Know-Who's return really scared him."

Ron snorted. "They scared all of us." Dean shot him a piercing glare and he quickly said, "Sorry, continue."

"It threw him for a loop. He was terrified of what would happen; he grew up in a wizarding family, so he'd heard all the horrible war stories about families like Harry's, about battles his own family members had been through. He didn't want to believe anything would change."

"Him and the rest of the world," Ron muttered.

Dean ignored him. "He… was eventually forced to admit that You-Know-Who was coming and there was nothing he could do about it. And I think he was just too stressed out, too worrisome about what-ifs and every possible catastrophe imaginable. It was stuff we were all wondering, at the time, but he let it get to him more than was healthy.

"It became my responsibility to bring him back to the real world. To remind him that we hadn't all died, that we were still at Hogwarts, with Dumbledore. He would lapse into his dark speculations for days at a time, not speaking to anyone. I think he was afraid of getting closer to people than he already was in case he lost them; he didn't want the emotional loss to be heavier than it would already be.

"Of course, once Dumbledore died, the whole world went into deep shite. You-Know-Who's goons had finally taken over the Ministry, and he had absolute power. And then the Muggleborn Registration Committee was formed by that horrible, prejudiced pink devil, and the scariest and most certain what-if had finally come upon Seamus — what if I, his anchor to the world at that point, was taken away?

"We ignored it, let it loom over our shoulders until it was absolutely unavoidable. The Carrows took over Hogwarts and a _crucio_ became standard punishment for being late. The committee finally began raiding homes. My family could be dead at any second. I could be dead at any second. I knew I had to leave.

"We made plans for my escape. I'd go through the Room of Requirement on Halloween night, when everyone was at the feast, go through Aberforth in Hogsmeade, get my family to a safe haven, and go on the run. Seamus insisted on coming along, even though I begged him not to; his absence from the feast would be suspicious, to say the least. But he was adamant. And me, with my stupid emotions getting in the way, let him.

"I turned on the radio the next day and it was blaring loud and clear: Hogwarts student Seamus Finnigan received the most torturous punishment so far from the Carrows, including beatings, whippings, and the cruciatus curse for allegedly aiding a Muggleborn friend in their escape from the Muggleborn Registration Committee. Medics say he should recover if given proper medicine, though Headmaster Snape's notorious disciplinary standards may result in permanent damage or death." It was clear the boy had memorized the fateful report by heart." And then they continued on with the weather. The weather.

"I knew it was my fault. I tried to be logical, telling myself I'd had no other options, but… I knew the truth. I'd brought this upon my friend."

"It wasn't your fault–" Ron started, but Dean held up his hand.

"Let me finish.

"During the Final Battle, I'd only caught glimpses of him, but at least I knew he was alive. Then, he just disappeared. No one could find him, even though we all saw him when we entered the Room of Requirement before the Battle. He'd vanished.

"I put it out of my mind, concentrated on rebuilding the castle. But they still hadn't found him. And I haven't looked. Because I'm a coward. Because I fear the worst."

Ron looked at the fire, trying to fight the burning sensation in his eyes after Dean's tale when he saw drops falling onto the carpet. Dean had begun to sob, and he couldn't stop. He visibly began to collapse: he buried his head, curled into a ball, and eventually crumpled to the floor. Ron immediately moved beside the boy and held him, and Dean wept into his shoulder.

"You're not a coward," Ron whispered. "You did the best you could in a horrible situation, and so did Seamus. People react in different ways to things; you couldn't control how Seamus reacted. You're a good friend, Dean. It is not your fault."

Dean pulled away and hiccuped. "Thanks," he whispered. "Means a lot." He mopped his face with his pajama sleeve and took long, wavering breaths until he was calmer. "You're a good friend too, Ron," he said quietly. "And a… really great person to talk to."

"Glad I could help." The red-head smiled gently. "If you ever need anything, let me know."

And Dean had needed him. And Ron needed the other boy, in a way, as well. The boys were hurt, deeper than even they themselves knew, but over the months, Ron had helped Dean come to terms with what had happened and accept that the past was the past. In turn, Dean provided Ron with someone with a bit of an outside perspective on his demons and was always a willing ear for topics from vampires to Muggle food to sports. In other words, they were each other's anchors; each other's friends.

Neither Dean nor Ron was whole, nor was anyone who'd lived through the war, but on the clear, crisp April day, Ron could realize that they were all healing.

"Boo."

Ron whirled, hand in his pocket and closed around his wand before he could think. But as soon as he saw who had scared him, he relaxed. Dean had finally arrived.

"Merlin, don't do that, man," Ron breathed, replacing his wand in his pocket.

"Sorry, you're right. So, ready to go to Hogsmeade. I hear Honeydukes has a new sugar quill that's double the size and lasts twice as long. Wanna see?"

"You know it." One of the things that had brought the boys closer was that each was the other's only match in appetite.

They strolled through the chilly grounds and into the small village, and Dean regaled Ron in a story about a hag that met Merlin and helped him on a journey into Gringotts to liberate a dragon there. They then stepped into Honeydukes and were engulfed in warm, sweet-smelling air. They loaded their bags with as many Sugar Quills, chocolate frogs, every flavor beans, cauldron cakes, and Drooble's gum as they could afford. The boys met up with Harry, Hermione and Neville at the Three Broomsticks for a pint of butterbeer. After, the five of them went to gaze at the Shrieking Shack. Harry, Ron, and Hermione gave each other knowing looks before Harry, Neville's and surprisingly Hermione got into a debate about Quidditch. Ron and Dean shifted away from those three and gazed at the run-down hut that had provided refuge for Remus Lupin all those years, sucking on Sugar Quills.

"This was Seamus's favorite spot," Dean said abruptly, his fond and far-away voice tinged with longing. "We would come here and speculate about what haunted the Shack while we ate our lot from Honeydukes. I thought ghosts; he thought a werewolf. Can you imagine that?" Ron hid a smirk. "Then we'd go and skip stones across the Black Lake, hoping the Giant Squid would steal one of them. It never did, though I think we caught sight of a tentacle once." He sighed.

"I wish he'd come back too, you know," Ron said.

"I know. The three of us could have been such great friends."

"The three of us?"

"Yeah? Why so surprised?"

"Oh, I don't know. You guys just always seemed like such an inseparable lair all the time, you know? Like you had some kind of special bond that couldn't be replicated."

"That's funny; I saw you, Harry, and Hermione the same way." Dean shook his head. "But of course you'd've been our friend. You're a kind, loyal person who knows how to have fun; you're a great friend."

Ron's ears turned pink. "Oh, well… thanks. Means a lot, I guess."

"I want to thank you," Dean said. "For being such a good friend to me and for being there for me, especially that Halloween. Thanks for being… my anchor."

"Of course," Ron said roughly. "I'd do anything to help you."

"Will you help me throw mud at those guys' heads?" Dean grinned.

"Would I?"

A full-blown prank war later, the five Gryffindors stumbled up the stairs to the tower, giggling and laughing and flinging the mud that still clung to their clothes at each other. After Hermione cleaned the mud off (or most of it, rather, but no one was really paying attention), they all collapsed in the common room, sweaty and tired but invigorated and, for the first time in three years, happy.


	37. When the Weasley Twins Get Drunk

**A/N: Written for round 7 of the Houses Competition forum for Slytherin House as a drabble.**

 **Prompt: 6. [setting] Quidditch after-party**

 **Word count: 476**

Through Hogwarts, a deafening swarm of crimson-clad students could be seen hoisting a laughing, black-haired boy above their heads. It was Gryffindor House after having won yet another Quidditch match. The crowd marched through the portrait hole to their common-room for another notoriously wild Quidditch after-parties. Fred and George made their customary rounds for food and drinks, even scoring some firewhiskey as well as butterbeer.

Upon the sight of food, there was a loud cheer and the twins got many claps on the back as they set down their loot. George moved to the corner as Fred grabbed two tumblers of firewhiskey for them both.

"The things they don't know," Fred sighed, sitting next to his brother, who frowned slightly. "Imagine how mum would flip."

George took one of the glasses. "Speaking of mum…"

"You know we can't tell her," Fred sighed. "I wish she'd support us too, but if we want this idea to take off, we need to keep her in the dark. Besides, once she sees how successful we are, she'll forget all about her doubts." He swung an arm around his brother, whose frown remained on his face. "C'mon. I know what'll cheer you up." From inside his robes, he pulled out a bottle of firewhiskey. "For just you and me, pal. Let's get blackout drunk."

"Really?" George raised an eyebrow. Fred's grin in response was all he needed. The boys refilled their glasses and downed the liquor, relishing the burning sensation that trailed down their throats. "More," George rasped, and Fred complied immediately, sloshing a bit of alcohol onto the floor.

Soon the boys were completely intoxicated. They were standing on either side of the fireplace, tossing a Quaffle back and forth with decreasing accuracy. "We should do something… to prove ourselves," George slurred as the ball bounced off the wall.

"Yeahh… you're so right," Fred replied, stumbling.

"We have… fireworks." George giggled. "Fire… works. We could blow them up. Boom!"

"Boom!" Fred said. "I should… I'll get 'em." He staggered across the room and up the stairs and soon returned with a box labeled DANGEROUS.

"Just need some water," George mumbled, drawing his wand. "Stand back everybody! 'Cuz we're amazin'!" he yelled, and people turned their heads, alarmed. "Aug– aguementos!" George waved the wand wildly, pointing it at the box, and somehow the spell worked. Fred cackled. Too late, people realized what was happening.

George exclaimed happily at the gold explosion for an instant before he was knocked out.

* * *

The twins woke to blinding lights, splitting headaches, and a very thin-lipped Professor McGonagall staring down at them.

"I hope you're happy with yourselves," she began. "Nobody was hurt. I'll leave you to deal with the consequences."

"Leave us…?" Fred mumbled.

The door slammed open and revealed the formidable figure of a furious Mrs. Weasley. The boys froze.

And she exploded.


	38. An Experience

**A/N: Written for round 7 of the Houses Competition forum for Slytherin House as a short story. Muggle!AU. Marauders Gen Hermione AU.**

 **Prompt: 8. [pairing] Sirius/Hermione**

 **Word count: 1,996**

Remus blamed his situation on his parents. Perhaps that was typical of a teenage boy, but he felt that this was a reasonable conclusion.

It had started with the baseball season. Remus, much to his father's poorly-hidden disappointment, had never been very "sporty"; he was never close with the popular jocks at his high-school. In fact, Remus wasn't really close to anyone. And being in his last year before college, his parents had decided that they would never get another chance to get him to play sports. So – and Remus still didn't understand how this happened – today he was trying out for the Westview baseball team.

His mother had waved off his concerns that morning. "You'll make friends at least; this'll be a good experience for you."

"Will it be a 'good experience' when I humiliate myself in front of the whole school?" he countered.

"We just think it'd be good for you to be active at least once in your educational career," his father cut in, not looking up from the paper. "We know what's best for you, Remus."

"Yeah, dad, of course."

"You'll do great," his mother reassured him, kissing his cheek. "You have to leave now if you want to be on time."

The whole day, Remus was unable to concentrate due to nerves. During lunch, in his usual corner, Remus tried going over the techniques his father had taught him during those tortuous practice sessions over the summer. But the memories escaped him, and Remus found his mind and eyes wandering to the loudest table in the cafeteria– the jocks. The butterflies in his stomach that had been fluttering around for the past week intensified sickeningly.

This group of boys were the most popular and envied students at Westview High. They were all athletic, smart, and good-looking. The group of them had been the baseball team for the past three years, and were all trying out again this year, meaning that they were the competition– a fact Remus was very aware of.

He was so screwed.

* * *

The rest of his classes passed by in a blur, and, much too soon, Remus was in the locker room, uncomfortably trying to change while he and the rest of the stragglers whose parents had also made them try out ignored the loud, rambunctious jocks. Soon, all the boys exited and walked onto the field.

The coach was an intense, frightening man who had certainly never been an athlete. He drilled into them the importance of perfection and ruthlessness in the game of baseball, which did not do anything to calm Remus's now-roiling nerves.

The boys were divided into two teams. Remus's team went behind the backstop to bat while the other team went out to field. They easily decide the batting order: two of the jocks went first and last, and kids like Remus were lumped in the middle.

He stepped up to the plate, sweating buckets. Two pitches blew right by him before he could get his bearings and as the coach called the strikes, his breathing became ragged. At the last pitch, Remus swung wildly and heard a crack. People gasped and his brain registered what had happened a moment too late. He'd actually hit something.

Run, you idiot! his brain screamed. And Remus ran, concentrating solely on first base. He felt a glove touch his back, his foot landed on the base, and he heard the coach's voice. "Out!"

The groans of his teammates made his cheeks flame as he walked shamefully to the backstop. To concentrate on anything other than his failure, Remus watched his teammates bat. It did not work.

He blew out a shaky breath when someone tapped his shoulder. He whirled and his eyes were filled with silver.

Remus's eyes refocused and he found himself staring at a person. Correction: a very attractive person. He ran his eyes over the think black hair that fell in effortless, elegant waves over the steely silver eyes; took in the strong jaw, toned form, and full lips. It was a jock. A drop-dead gorgeous jock.

As he stared, he heard, "You were pretty good out there."

His brain caught up to the fact that he was openly gaping and had been asked a question. "Oh, um, good, me? No… I was out…" Jesus, get it together!

"That happens to everyone sometimes. You hit well." He smiled encouragingly and Remus's butterflies intensified, but for an entirely different reason this time.

"No, not really… I, um–"

"Black! Get out here!" the coach yelled.

"Sorry, that's me. See you around." He clapped Remus on the shoulder and smiled his dazzling smile before jogging off to bat. Remus stood frozen at even that innocent touch before slowly turning back to the field.

The pitcher threw one ball way over the gorgeous boy's head and coach promptly yelled something unintelligible. Remus saw the batter run a hand through his hair and squat lower, and Remus caught himself staring at the boy's a–

He shook his head and looked toward the field desperately, blushing and breathing raggedly. Snap out of it, dammit. He's just some jock.

The boy hit a home run and Remus found himself fascinated by the graceful speed with which he rounded the bases, his powerful legs turning his body in graceful arcs to run the circuit. Remus looked away once more and promise to himself that he wouldn't stare again.

That promise was harder to keep than he'd thought. Remus couldn't take his eyes off the boy.

Staring at him perfectly hit, throw, and run cost Remus many chances to prove his skills and generally be a functioning human being. He was even hit in the head a few times, much to everyone's amusement and Remus's embarrassment. It was as if he was in a trance. And then Remus realized that if he made the team, he would be spending two hours with this person every day. His interest in the team suddenly increased dramatically.

The day ended with Remus being… disheartened. Based on the way he'd played – or hadn't played, rather – getting on the team was unlikely. Remus sighed to himself, and with this thought weighing in his heart, he walked home from tryouts morosely.

"Hey!"

For the second time that day, Remus whirled to see the gorgeous jock behind him. Almost automatically, he ducked his head, his cheeks flushed, and his heart began to race. "Hi," he replied quietly.

The jock jogged up next to him. "Mind if we walk together?"

"Oh, um, alright." He wants to walk with me? "I'm only walking home, so…"

"That's fine. Where do you live?"

"Beacon Lane," Remus muttered.

"Oh, me too!"

"Really?" How have I never noticed you before?

"Yeah. Maybe we could practice together."

Remus ducked his head again. "I don't think I made the team. But thanks."

"We still have two more days of tryouts. I think you could be really good."

"You think?" Remus looked at him shyly, unable to believe he was getting all this praise from a boy who, hours ago, would never have noticed him.

"Yeah, totally. I realize I don't know your name?"

"It's Remus."

He smiled brightly, and Remus almost melted as he managed to quirk the edges of his lips upward in response. "I like that. I'm–"

"Sirius!" Remus turned to see a red, gold, and brown… something barreling down the road towards them. It knocked into the other boy – Sirius, apparently – who squeezed it tightly, and Remus realized that it was a person – a girl – who'd come through like a tornado.

Once the two pulled away, Remus recognized the girl immediately. It was Hermione Granger, the lead cheerleader for Westview. She still had her cheerleading uniform on: a yellowish-gold dress with embroidered red letters on her front that read Westview. Her notoriously bushy brown hair was pulled into two bunches with red ribbon. She was also wearing a crimson letterman jacket that read Black on the back.

"You left so soon, I couldn't find you, and you left your letterman jacket in the locker room so I brought it," she said, taking it off and handing it to him. Remus stood awkwardly to the side, immediately disliking the cheerleader, though he couldn't understand why. It might have had something to do with the way the two were always touching, and how those touches seemed oddly intimate, more natural and casual than touches like that usually were for friends.

"Thanks, Hermione," Sirius replied easily. "I was catching up to this guy." He gestured to Remus and Hermione noticed him for the first time.

"Oh, who's this?" she asked.

"This is my new friend, Remus." Friend. Remus didn't know whether to be pleased or disappointed.

"Hi, I'm Hermione." She held out her hand to shake and Remus took it, staring at the ground.

"Well, me and Remus were gonna walk home. Wanna come?" Sirius asked.

"He's coming over to your house?"

"No, we live on the same street," Remus said quietly.

"Oh. I've got a lot of work to do. Ms. Bunnell hates our guts," she complained. "I think I'll have to pass this one time."

"Ok." Sirius sounded a little disappointed. "Call me when you're done studying."

"I will." Remus was about to mentally cheer that she was going when Sirius and Hermione kissed. On the lips. Remus felt like he was plummeting from an extremely high height. They kissed a little longer than necessary, and Hermione giggled before pulling away and walking back towards the school, waving goodbye one last time.

The two boys walked in silence for a minute. Sirius seemed a little dazed and had a far away look in his eyes that made Remus want to punch something.

"So, Sirius." Remus cleared his throat. "Is Hermione your… girlfriend or something?"

Sirius's head snapped up. "Oh, well, um, yeah, I mean… yeah." He rubbed the back of his neck and blushed adorably.

"Oh. Cool." He could be disappointed, then. Remus cleared his throat again and looked away into the distance.

"You okay?" Sirius asked.

"I'm just thinking about baseball and how I won't get in…"

"Hey, I'll help you. Don't worry. I have a feeling you're going to do great."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Remus said wryly.

"Oh, this is me." Sirius stopped and pointed to a house. Remus looked up and his jaw dropped open.

"Is something wrong?" Sirius asked.

"No… Just that I live right there." He pointed his finger across the street.

"Really? Dude, that's awesome! How've we never known this?"

"I could ask myself the same thing." _How the hell does he live here?! Across the street from me?!_ The gorgeous jock he'd just been walking home with was his _neighbor._

Sirius's lips quirked up into a smile. "How about you actually come over? We can practice in my backyard."

"Oh, thanks, but I also have a lot of schoolwork to do. Yeah."

"Ok, maybe tomorrow…" Sirius trailed off as Remus sprinted across the street and through his front door. Sirius shrugged and entered his house, giving one last glance back at the house across the street.

* * *

Remus had sprinted upstairs into his bedroom, ignoring his parents' questions. He now lay on his bed, door locked, contemplating this horrible development.

 _This_ never would _have happened if my parents didn't want me to join the stupid baseball team. Stupid baseball._

Of course he had a girlfriend. _How could you not have guessed this? He's a_ jock. But seeing Hermione Granger with him… Remus could feel his blood boiling. This unavailable, untouchable, gorgeous jock who wanted to spend time with him as friends to get him on a team that would allow him to spend more time with him as friends lived right across the street this whole time?!

Remus buried his head in his hands and took a deep breath.

He was so, totally screwed.

 _Good experience, my arse._


	39. Leaves

**A/N: Written for Slytherin House for the Houses Competition forum's Bonus Round 2. AU where Rodolphus impersonates Moody instead of Barth Crouch Jr.**

 **Theme: Autumn**

 **Prompts: [speech] "Is 'no' a foreign word to you?"**

 **[romantic pairing] Rodolphus Lestrange and Minerva McGonagall**

 **Word count: 784**

The Goblet of Fire flared red for a fourth time. A blackened bit of parchment shot out of the flames, and Dumbledore caught it deftly. When he read the name, the color visibly drained out of his face. Nevertheless, he called, "HARRY POTTER!"

A chorus of protests swelled among the gathered students and teachers. Minerva McGonagall was feeling extremely faint. Her poor little lion. How could this have happened?

Seemingly in response to her unvoiced question, someone tapped her arm roughly. Minerva jumped and spun around. The grizzled face of Professor Moody peered back at her. "Come with me for a walk."

"What?"

"A walk. Come on, the air is fresh and the leaves are beautiful this time of year."

"Are you serious?"

Not waiting for more objections, Moody grabbed the Transfiguration professor by the arm and led her out a back door. He pulled her across the grounds and didn't let go until they reached a secluded grove of maples on the far side of the Black Lake. The angry words died in Minerva's mouth as he sat her firmly on a bench.

They were in another dimension where, instead of blue, the sky was a brilliant collage of golds, corals and crimsons. As her eyes adjusted, Minerva realized that this masterpiece was made of leaves. A Gryffindor-red one fell from its branch and flew down into her right hand. She held it delicately.

As she gazed around at the clearing, a calloused hand crept behind her own and folded her fingers down until the leaf in her palm shattered.

That broke the spell. "Why did you bring me here?" Minerva demanded.

"I've always appreciated the leaves' beauty in autumn," Moody whispered, though it came out as a growl. He was still holding her hand. "As I know you do."

Minerva's eyes filled with alarm as the last five words were uttered. She should not have come here. "Who are you?" she whispered. "Not Moody…"

"No, you're right. I'm not Moody."

The cogs turned in her head, putting the pieces of the night together. _The Goblet, Harry, the foliage…_ The last piece clicked.

" _Rodolphus_?" she whispered, horrified.

"Correct." He tapped her nose with his rough finger.

"What's happened to you?" Minerva stood, drawing her wand. "Why are you here?"

"Put that wand away; I'm not here to hurt you," he said languidly, guiding her by her hand back onto the bench.

"But you're not here to kiss and make up," she spat.

"Actually, that's incorrect." He smiled. "I have a proposition."

"I don't make deals with Death Eaters," Minerva hissed.

"If my memory serves correctly, that is a lie." When she could not protest, he smirked. "Now, all I need is one thing from you."

"And what's that?"

"Information. About Harry Potter.

"I could help my Lord kill him without your help, but I'd get to bring the boy to Him earlier than planned and will be rewarded. And it'll be so much fun to see you squirm. So?" He smiled again. "What do you say?"

"Is 'no' a foreign word to you?" she sneered, clenching her wand in the pocket of her robes.

"See, I thought you'd say that, but I wanted to give you the option before you realized how far I've backed you into the proverbial corner.

"You have three options. One: give information to me in secret with no consequence to yourself or me. We can 'kiss and make up' if you want." He smirked. "Two: I bring you to the Dark Lord, presenting us as a united front and you help me with the threat of Him over your shoulder. Not as pleasant. Three: I bring you to Him by force, and you are forced to report back to him, at the end of which you will be killed. So, it's your choice.

"And don't even think about reporting this to Dumbledore or the Ministry because that would get me sent to Azkaban." He leaned and whispered in her ear, "And we both know how you'd hate sending me there."

He pulled away. "Almost destroyed you the first time, if I do recall."

Minerva's eyes stung, and she tried to shove her damned feelings down where she wouldn't have to think of them. She could _not_ have You-Know Who at her back.

"Option One," she croaked.

"Excellent." Another leering smile crossed his face and he stood up, holding her hand loosely. It was a testimony to her weakness that Minerva didn't pull it away as he brought it to his lips. He backed away and let go, smirking.

Minerva's tears spilled over as he whistled along with the birds and walked away, the leaves crunching beneath his feet.


	40. Tally Marks

**A/N: Written for Slytherin House for the Houses Competition forum's Round 8 as a drabble. Tattoo Parlor AU.**

 **Prompt: 4. [speech] "Why are your hands blue?"**

 **Word count: 480**

The door opened, and Ginny looked up from cleaning her hands to see her twin brothers.

"What d'you want?" she sighed.

"Why are your hands blue?" George countered.

"I spilled ink on myself and it won't come off."

"Never mind that. We want tattoos!" Fred grinned.

"Well, no one's here anyway. Sit there and I'll get some color samples for you." She brought them some swatches. "We have erumpent, snorkack fur, nargle–"

"Why'd you let Luna name them?" George asked.

"What about that one?" Fred pointed to a dark blue.

"'Dusk'. Nice choice, but very expensive. At least two Galleons each."

"Aww, come on," George pleaded. "We only want tally marks!"

"Tally marks? Why?"

Fred ignored her. "We're siblings!"

"Surely you'll let it slide?"

The two gave her identical grins and batted their eyelashes.

Ginny glared at them. "Just this once." She took the swatches away and brought two needles and a bottle of colored ink. "Where would you like it?"

George rolled back his sleeve. "Here. This big." He measured a short length with his fingers on his forearm.

"And mine on my bum," Fred declared.

"Ew, gross!" Ginny cried.

"Kidding… Same as George."

Ginny rolled her eyes, pushing a needle into George's skin. She easily inked a tally onto one twin and then the other.

"All set."

"Thanks, little sis!" George chirped, hopping up.

"Love ya!" Fred called, following him.

"But what does it–" The door slammed shut. "... mean?"

* * *

Six months later

Ginny was diligently tattooing a daffodil when the door opened. Seeing the twin heads of red-orange hair amble in, she groaned.

"Not another one?"

"Ah, don't be like that, Gin. Family first," George said as Fred sat himself in the seat closest to her.

"You've been here every week for Merlin knows how long! And I'm busy!" She gestured to the angry faces of the two men waiting in line. "Can't it wait?"

"You know it'll only take a minute."

"If only to get rid of you, then," she grumbled. Apologizing to her waiting customers profusely, she got out the ink and needles from what had become their usual spot on her desk.

Ginny pushed the needle into George's arm harder than was necessary, griping all the while about free-loading brothers and their incessant wants.

"And who even knows what you're counting," Ginny spat as she finished George's.

"Would you like to know?" Fred asked brightly.

" _Fine_. Might as well know why I'm even doing this." She pulled the needle out of Fred's arm.

"Well, we're counting–" George began.

"–how many tattoos we've gotten!" Fred crowed.

Ginny froze.

"I am no longer serving you."

Only practiced escapes from assorted angry victims saved the twins from Ginny's bat-bogey hex. Though once the brothers got away, the twenty-five tallies on each of their forearms served as many prompts for the story of their longest-ever prank to date.


	41. Isidora

**A/N: Written for Slytherin House for the Houses Competition forum's Round 8 as a short story. Post-war.**

 **Prompt: 4. [speech] "Literally everything about this is illegal."**

 **Word count: 1875**

Luna and Ginny sat in the Ravenclaw common room on a clear Saturday morning, Luna braiding the redhead's hair. The sun shone through the light blue curtains that were draped around a large hole in the tower wall, casting a tinted glow about the room. The gap was one of many scars on the castle from the war that would take a longer time to repair. The spot had become a favorite relaxation spot for many of the students, where they could stand on the ledge jutting out, protected by a barrier spell.

"I was thinking of getting a pet today," Luna announced.

"Ooh, fun," Ginny replied. "What kind?"

"I think a fish," she mused.

"Really? Not something more… I don't know, exciting?"

"Fish are plenty exciting. And they're really beautiful."

"Alright, then. Where will you get it?"

"I thought from the Black Lake. There are lots of fish there, and I bet I could find one and provide it with a proper home."

Luna stood up, ignoring Ginny's cry of "But my hair!" She walked to one of the many curved bookshelves that lined the circular space and was easily able to find one called _The Complete Carebook for Aquatic Animals_. She was immediately enraptured by the text and pictures of varieties of fish that accompanied it. Eventually, Ginny joined her and they were able to find the type of fish that Luna wanted: a red snapper. Ginny was skeptical at first, but Luna was determined, and they were able to procure a tank, supplies, and a net from the Room of Requirement. Then they went to the Black Lake.

" _Snappers are generally found in tropical, reef-associated areas_ ," Luna recited. "We need to go to the tropical section of the Lake." One of the projects after the war had been adding different artificial environments into the Black Lake to make room for more interesting fish. The coral environment was a source of fascination for many students, especially the younger ones, who had only seen grayish types of fish caught for the dinner table. The more colorful fish also served to cheer up many of the war veterans still attending at Hogwarts.

Luna rolled up the legs of her Muggle jeans and waded in, causing many of the fish to dart quickly out of sight. She lowered the sizeable net into the water with the bait: a plimpie egg. The book had said they preferred crustaceans, but Luna could only make do with what she had.

After waiting in the water for half an hour (with Ginny being no help whatsoever), a light red, sharp-toothed fish swam into the net. Quickly, Luna pulled up the net and called for Ginny to bring the tank, which they had previously filled with salt-water. The fish was lowered into the tank and the two girls inspected it.

"It has all the characteristics of a red snapper– sharp teeth, the right amount of dorsal fins…" Luna started listing off all the things she'd learned about red snappers in the past hour. Ginny shook her head fondly and cast levitation and invisibility charms on the tank, pulling Luna along with her gently as she guided the tank back to Ravenclaw tower with her wand.

Luckily, Luna was the only Ravenclaw girl of her year that had decided to return to Hogwarts, so her dorm was deserted for them to bring the tank in relatively unnoticed. They set it in front of Luna's bed, where she continued to rave about her new pet.

"It's about reached maturity, see how it's about 30cm long? And, oh, it needs a name. Ginny, what do you think? I think I should name it Isidora. I'm pretty sure it's a she…"

"I'll leave you two alone," Ginny joked, and left Luna to talk to her new pet all afternoon.

* * *

2 Years Later

"I brought food!" Ginny announced as she entered Luna's studio. The blonde was in her old jeans with her hair held in a messy bun with her wand, paint splattered all over herself. The canvas she was working on depicted an underwater scene with a coral reef illuminated by the sunlight– not unlike the studio itself. Luna had modeled it after the Ravenclaw common room, with the same blue sheets draped across the windows. Multiple times she had claimed it made Isidora feel more at home– the rest of her friends were too polite and too used to her habits to voice that a fish probably didn't have an opinion on the room's decor. Though, Ginny had to think, the room was beautiful.

"Ooh, Chinese food. Set it on the counter there." Luna removed her apron, took out her hair, and sent the smock with a flick of her wand to the bathroom to clean itself. She dusted herself off and refreshed herself with a tap of her wand.

The two friends talked about the Ministry, Harry's Auror training, and Hermione's campaign to be head of the DMLE. Ginny was trying out to be on the Holy Harpies after training with Oliver Wood at Puddlemere United, and they raised a toast to her good luck.

"So, how's Isidora?" Ginny asked.

"Alright. She seems happy, but I'm a little concerned. Her mouth has been looking a little weird."

"Her mouth?"

"Yes, there's like a little green thing in the back of her throat, but she doesn't seem bothered."

"Have you taken her to the new vet in Diagon?"

"I don't think it's that serious."

"You know Luna," Ginny said gently, "she is a fish. They usually don't live for very long, and you don't know how old she was when you got her."

"No, red snappers can live for over a hundred years, and Isidora was just reaching adulthood when I got her. Do you think Charlie could look at her?"

"He's on a trip to Bulgaria and won't be back in England for a year, sorry. But if it doesn't get better, I'll bring him here when he gets back."

"Thanks."

* * *

1 Year Later

"Charlie!" Despite her age, Ginny still ran up to her brother and tackled him in a hug. "You're not allowed to be away for this long again!"

"Missed you too, Gin," he laughed. Suddenly a loud, shrill ring filled the house. "Merlin, what the hell is that?"

"A Muggle telephone. Harry insisted we get one," Ginny explained. "It rings when someone calls you."

"You couldn't just use the floo?" Charlie muttered as Ginny went to answer it.

" _She has a head!_ " Luna's voice screeched through the receiver.

Ginny pulled the phone away from her ear. "Luna, what?"

" _Isidora! She has a head!_ "

"Well, yeah, don't all fish?" Ginny asked, perplexed.

" _No, it's like a human head, except it's green and slimy and coming out of her mouth! I woke up to feed her and she was just like that! Get Charlie down here now!_ "

"But he just arrived!"

" _Ginny! My fish has a human head coming out of her mouth! I want you here this instant!_ " There was a click, and Ginny could tell Luna had hung up.

"Come on," she told Charlie. "We're going to Luna's. I'd explain, but I don't much understand it myself."

With two pops, the Weasley siblings had apparated to the studio.

"Luna, what were you on about?" Ginny asked as she entered.

"Come and see for yourself!" Her voice was shrill and strained and very un-Luna-like.

Charlie took one look at the tank and whistled. "I didn't know you had a mermaid, Luna."

The two women stared. "I don't," Luna answered faintly.

"Yeah, you do. That's a common red snapper mermaid."

"No, this doesn't say anything about mermaids," Luna protested, handing Charlie _The Complete Carebook for Aquatic Animals_.

"This? This is a sixth-year CoMC textbook. This won't tell you anything about mermaids."

"Wait, but we found Isidora as a regular fish," Ginny said. "Aren't mermaids just born half-human half-fish?"

"No. They look like regular fish at first, but eventually, the head begins to protrude out of the mouth, and then the arms and torso push out until the fish head in rendered useless and the mermaid reaches adulthood in 23 years. You learn all about it in advanced CoMC. It's quite fascinating."

Luna sat on her couch. "I have… a mermaid."

"Yes, you do. However did you find it?"

Recovering quickly, Luna relayed the story of how she and Ginny had captured the assumed red snapper from the Black Lake and set it up in a tank under her bed until she'd moved out of Hogwarts into her current studio. Charlie turned very pale by the end of it. "Literally everything about this is illegal."

"It is?" Luna asked, back to her curious self. She'd seemed to accept that fact that Isidora was a mermaid quite easily.

"Yeah, definitely. The Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures has a lot of strict laws about mermaid capture– fines, even Azkaban awaits any who violate them. Hogwarts is one of the few acceptions in Britain."

"Luna, you know what this means," Ginny started.

"I have a lot of reading to do?" she said brightly.

"No. You have to put Isidora back."

Luna gasped, horrified. "No!"

"You heard him! You could be fined a crazy amount or put in Azkaban! I don't want that to happen to you, or to me!"

"I'm not putting her back! She's my pet and I love her!"

"I know you're attached, but your security is more important. Luna, we're adults; be sensible!"

"She won't know how to survive with other mermaids now that I've raised her!" Luna argued, tears filling her eyes.

"I have a compromise," Charlie suggested hurriedly. "How about Luna keeps Isidora, just until she reaches adulthood. Then you'll release her back into the Black Lake."

"Charlie, that'll be in another twenty years! Surely she'll be caught by then!" Ginny cried.

"But she does have a point about Isidora not being able to survive in a natural habitat. Animals born or bred in captivity have very hard times surviving without human assistance. But studies with mermaids show that adults adapt quickly, and that would be the safest time to put Isidora back with her family. Actually, some mermaids bred in captivity learn to communicate in rough English after a time…"

"Okay, I get it! Isidora will stay," Ginny conceded. Both Luna and Charlie cheered.

"But it is still illegal," Charlie warned. "So be careful."

"Don't worry." Luna waved him off, already turning to soothe Isidora about the "mean" people who wanted to separate them.

* * *

20 Years Later

"Okay, Isidora, it's time," Luna said softly, lifting her amphibious friend out of the magically-enlarged tank. Isidora was now 180cm long and weighed almost 70kg, and her torso was olive-colored with dark green hair. Her tail was as long as her torso, and a lighter red now with moss-green swirls making a unique pattern.

The mermaid offered words of comfort to her slightly gray-haired human companion. "No worries, Luna." She struggled to get the "L" sound around her tongue. "I home now."

Luna laid Isidora in the water, and she immediately swam away, reappearing to do an elated flip. Luna threw her a plimpie egg and Isidora caught it in her mouth. Luna laughed softly, tears rolling down her cheeks.

"Yes, you're home now."

* * *

 **A/N: This concept about mermaids is an unusual one, I know. I got it off tumblr and thought it was way cooler than the usual mermaid tales. Hope you enjoyed!**


	42. Redemption

**A/N: Written for Slytherin House for the Houses Competition forum's Round 8 as a themed story.**

 **Prompt: 4. [speech] "Let's find out exactly how deep your betrayal runs."**

 **Word count: 4,019**

August, 1996

 _"You promised!"_

 _"I know, Draco, I'm sorry–"_

 _"You promised he'd be out of here!"_

 _"I know, but the Dark Lord is not merciful–"_

 _"I don't care!" Lucius was stunned to find tears making their way down Draco's cheeks. He thought he'd stamped out his son's ability to cry by age seven. Malfoys never cried: it was a sign of weakness. "I don't care that he's not merciful! I don't care that he's powerful! I want him out of my house! I want out!"_

 _"What on earth are you saying?"_

 _"I wish we…" Draco glanced around his room as if the Dark Lord was watching and listening to his words at the moment– which wasn't impossible at all. "I wish we'd never joined His side. I just want to have a normal life. I don't want to be a Death Eater. I want to be happy. Why'd you and Mum ever have to join him in the first place?!"_

 _"Draco, we've explained this. The Dark Lord will bring power to Purebloods and restore our dominance over the wizarding world."_

 _"I don't care about that! I just… I don't want to die," he said quietly. "And I don't want you to die."_

 _"We will not die, Draco, don't be ridiculous," Narcissa interjected, entering the room quietly. Of course she'd been listening in. "Not if you take the Mark. Now, it's time to go. We can't be late for your Initiation."_

 _Suddenly, Draco was violently angry again. "No! I won't go!"_

 _"Draco!" Narcissa sighed in exasperation. "Stop being childish! This is a necessary sacrifice. Don't you understand? Your father and I have given our money, our house, our reputation, all to the Dark Lord, so that we may survive his reign and benefit in the end. It is time for you to do your part if you truly do not wish for us to die." She stepped forward and struck like a cobra, grabbing his arm firmly with almost unnatural strength._

 _Draco fought as she dragged him out the door, pushing against the doorframe in an attempt to stave off the inevitable. When it was clear he was going to lose this battle, he lashed out. "I won't be responsible for paying for your mistakes, Father!"_

 _The man stared at his son, hurt, though his face was stone to the untrained eye. Do not let your emotions get in the way of your objectives, Abraxas Malfoy's voice whispered in Lucius's ear. "You dare!" he hissed. "You dare speak to me this way in my own house?!"_

 _"You let the Dark Lord do whatever he wants in your house, trampling all over your family!" Draco shot back._

 _"You think yourself as powerful as the Dark Lord?" Lucius scoffed, ignoring the guilt weighing down his chest. "One would think you had a death wish. Your mother and I are doing what is best for you, and you'd do well to appreciate it!"_

 _"I don't see how torture is what's best for your son!" Draco snarled as his mother finally got him loose from the doorframe and carried him down to the largest dining room with his father's help. Narcissa silenced his protests with her wand when they came close to the Dark Lord._

 _"Now, you are about to receive a great privilege," Lucius instructed brusquely, trying to retain some of his authority around his son. "I suggest you stop screaming like a newborn and clean yourself up unless you wish to experience the Dark Lord's intolerance for tardiness and insolence."_

 _Draco's fear of the Dark Lord immediately snuffed out his fight. He quickly refreshed himself with his wand and put up his mask of cool indifference. The Malfoy family walked in late but looking perfectly calm._

 _"Ah, Lucius, Draco," Lord Voldemort said regally, much too serene for comfort. Serenity with the Dark Lord meant he was in control. And the Dark Lord's control, no matter what Lucius told his son, never meant anything good. For anyone._

 _Draco's screams during his Initiation stayed with Lucius all through the night._

* * *

July 7, 1997

Lucius Malfoy woke with a start. Realizing he was in his own bed, at his own Manor, he relaxed. Here, he was safe.

But then he remembered. He could not relax. He was not safe, not in his own house, not anywhere. Neither was anyone else.

He found his sheets – and his body – drenched in sweat. Lucius reached under his pillow and found the splinters of his old elm and heartstring wand. It was sentimental and therefore stupid to keep the useless bit of wood and sinew, but he found that it irrationally comforted him. It made him believe that he could get through these times. And, as Narcissa had pointed out repeatedly, all that mattered was that they got through.

He looked to his right at his wife now. Her dreams were impossibly undisturbed by nightmares or horrors.

Somehow sensing that her husband was awake, Narcissa stirred and woke, blinking blearily until her eyes focused on Lucius. "Bad dream again, dear?"

He did not meet her eyes. "I just keep having flashes of what he said to us the last time–" Lucius stopped, lest his cracking voice reveal his emotion. He paused to collect himself, then continued in a whisper, "the last time he was here."

"I know, darling. We made a mistake. But all we can do is move on and eventually forgive ourselves."

"How can you say that with such ease?" he demanded, turning to look her in the eyes. "It was mere weeks ago."

"I've learned a lot in my years on Earth," Narcissa said slowly. "I've carried a lot of guilt, not much happiness. But I choose to let myself be propelled by my guilt rather than let it weigh me down."

"I wish I could reconcile that easily."

"We made a mistake Lucius. We thought it would be best. We were raised to think so. It was the largest mistake of our lives, yes, but we're only human, after all. Everyone makes mistakes."

"Not mistakes that kill their only sons."

Narcissa was very quiet. She laid back down and rolled over so her back was to him. The silence was so prolonged Lucius thought she had fallen back to sleep, but then he heard a whisper.

"No, I suppose not."

* * *

September 1, 1996

 _"How can you ask this of me?"_

 _"We do not ask this of you Draco, the Dark Lord does," Narcissa scoffed. "And as a member of his unit, you will do as he asks without question."_

 _"But why me? Why not Snape, or some more competent Death Eater that is closer to Dumbledore? Why me?"_

 _The almost imperceptible flicks of his parents' gazes to each other's eyes was not unnoticed by their son. "The Dark Lord has chosen you, and you will obey. What part of 'without question' do you not understand?" Lucius hissed._

 _"You know exactly why he chose me," Draco seethed. "Because you," he pointed at his father and jabbed his index finger into his chest, "couldn't get a damn crystal ball from a fifteen year old. Now I am forced to do this because of you. You're lucky my life is at stake too, or we'd all be dead in a minute." He turned on his heel and stalked onto the Hogwarts Express without another word._

 _Both were shocked and stung, but hid their upset under thick cloaks of anger. Narcissa grabbed Lucius's hand rather roughly and Disapparated to the Manor._

 _"How can he say such things?" she raved, pacing in their bedroom. "Does Draco not realize what is at stake? Doesn't he understand that he cannot afford, that we cannot afford, that our family cannot afford, for him to act in such a juvenile manner?"_

 _"He is still a teenager, Narcissa. Perhaps it is too much for him. He's been forced to grow up much faster than you or I."_

 _"But he doesn't live in the same time period as you and I grew up in. We must adapt. Sacrifices must be made, Lucius, sacrifices must be made, or we will perish. His behavior is completely unacceptable."_

 _"Of course, dear."_

* * *

July 24, 1997

Once again, cold sweat had seeped through Lucius's nightshirt. He shook his head and conjured a glass, filling it with water and drinking it. Lucius breathed slowly, but his pulse refused to slow.

The nightmare – the memory – had been so vivid.

Draco lying lifeless on a bed in the hospital wing, his skin and hair the same color as the sheets. He'd died with his mouth in a determined frown. Draco would never laugh, never run, never cry, never pout, again. The sorrow was deeper, more penetrating than any grief Lucius had experienced before. He allowed his mask to crack, and his mouth drooped downward.

Slowly, with a hand almost as pale as his son's, Lucius drew back the top sheet to reveal the thick bandages wrapped around the boy's too-thin forearms. Despite the solidity of the wrappings, dots of red poked through. For the first time in twenty years, a tear rolled down Lucius Malfoy's face.

Lucius shook his head. It wouldn't do to dwell on the worst day of his life more than he already did. He tilted his head to the sky and blinked back the tears that threatened to spill over.

Again, uncannily, Narcissa woke as her husband did. "Another nightmare?"

"Yes. Rather depressing to think that they aren't images conjured from the depths of my fears, but actual memories."

"I'll tell you this again: there was nothing we could have done. He killed himself."

 _We could have turned away from Him. We could have ran. We could have shielded our son somehow. I could have gotten the prophecy._

"He should have been stronger, darling," Narcissa told him. "But he wasn't. And you can't change that." She squeezed his hand. "Go to sleep."

He nodded absentmindedly, not really listening, and laid on his back, ready for the floaty feeling of drifting off to sleep. But something was compressing his chest, squeezing the air out of his lungs, weighing him down.

Guilt.

* * *

March 14, 1997

 _He woke to the all-too-clean smell of the Hospital Wing. Why?_

 _Potter. Draco sighed but groaned at the pain the simple act brought him. Stupid Potter. Everything was his fault, after all._

 _What was the lunatic boy thinking, throwing a deadly curse at him? Gryffindors really didn't think. Couldn't he have just had a good cry in peace?_

 _That reminded Draco why he had been crying. He sighed again, ignoring the sting throughout his chest. He was failing. He was going to fail his family. He was going to fail his father._

 _"It is time for you to do your part if you truly do not wish us to die," his mother had said._

 _But I can't, he thought. I can't do my part._

 _It would only cause his parents more suffering when he was inevitably punished for his failure._

 _"Do your part…"_

 _Draco shifted, his mind racing on how to solve his dilemma. Pain laced through his body as he shifted restlessly again, but it wasn't unpleasant. In fact, it was… rather comforting. He turned over and felt his wounds split open, blood dripping into his bandages. He sighed contentedly. But he still didn't have a solution to his dilemma…_

 _It would only cause his parents more suffering when he was inevitably punished for his failure._

 _But I can't fail if I never survived, he thought. And death would be better than living the way he was._

 _His eyes fell on a surgical knife that Madame Pomfrey had carelessly left on a tray near his bedside table. If he could just reach…_

 _Slowly, and with a lot of pain that he didn't altogether mind, Draco stretched his arm out until his semi-mobile fingers closed around the handle of the instrument. He stowed it under his blankets and settled in like he hadn't moved just as Madame Pomfrey entered the room._

 _But he had to finish his task. He had to kill Dumbledore, or his parents would be punished for his incompetence instead. He saw the solution and refrained from groaning again._

 _Draco would have to at least physically attempt to kill the old coot. Hopefully, when he failed, after that another, luckier Death Eater would be able to finish him off. His parents' debt would be repaid when his life was taken and he'd be free at last._

* * *

July 25, 1997

"Lucius," Narcissa called softly. The man was sitting on his gray bedspread, staring at the wall, feeling... depressed. The memory of Draco's pale face hung over him like a haunting ghost. he wished there was something he could have done, something he could possibly do now if only to cope. Lucius wasn't accustomed to the experience of an incomplete life – his family had always been able to buy whatever they wanted – and didn't quite know what to do with himself. "The Dark Lord has summoned us."

"For what?"

"I don't ask questions of our Lord, do you?"

"Of course not. I'll be there in a moment."

"Don't take too long. I won't wait for you if you're late."

"Of course, dear." For some reason, it took a lot of strength to get up off the bed and straighten himself up, but the fear of being punished for tardiness spurred Lucius forward.

Little did he know that he was about to be punished for much more than just tardiness.

Lucius went downstairs automatically, his legs moving him through the familiar halls automatically as his mind remained in the clouds. With Draco.

Remembering himself before entering, Lucius hardened his features into an air of purpose and opened the intimidating dining hall doors.

"Lucius." Lord Voldemort greeted the Death Eater as he bowed. "You are late."

"Apologies, my lord."

"No matter." Years of practice kept Lucius's surprise hidden. "I have other subjects to discuss with you. Sit." He waived his arm lazily to the right, where Narcissa already sat, straight-backed and seemingly at impassive attention, though the tightness around her eyes revealed to Lucius her anxiety at what was to come. Obeying, Lucius sat, taking the seat across from his wife.

"I am here to serve you, my Lord. Tell me what you require and I shall execute your will to the best of my ability."

"Ah, that, coincidently, is one of the matters I wish to talk to you about. 'The best of your ability'."

"My Lord?"

"I have given you many assignments over the years, Lucius. You have been a loyal servant since you entered manhood and I have been grateful for your service. However, many of these tasks have proved you incapable."

"I most sincerely apologize for my failure, my Lord."

The snake-like man waved his apologies off. "I am, however, merciful, and I have continued to place my trust in you, given you more chances than you deserved, more than many of my other Death Eaters received."

Lucius kept his face much less anxious than he truly felt. A calm Voldemort was unpredictable, undoubtedly dangerous, but a disapproving Voldemort, moreover one who expressed his disapproval, was indefinitely angry. And that was almost worse than being in the dark. "I feel the deepest gratitude for your kindness and forgiveness, my Lord."

"Your most recent, and greatest, failure was failing to deliver to me the prophecy that details my relationship with Harry Potter." Lord Voldemort continued to speak as if Lucius hadn't opened his mouth. "You are well aware of the consequence that blunder bore to your family." The red slits were staring directly at him, begging him to dare to make eye contact. Lucius stonily stared forward into Narcissa's steely gray eyes, but paled nevertheless at the venom building in the Dark Lord's voice.

"I gave your only son, your heir, a responsibility, a feat grown wizards for decades have been unable to manage. I bade him kill Albus Dumbledore. The task proved too great for a mere sixteen-year-old and the boy slit his wrists in March." The flatness of his voice betrayed no empathy or remorse for what he had done.

"I, merciful, as I am, gave you and Narcissa exactly one month and four days to mourn him. But now, it has come time for me to address the failings of the Malfoy family to my name. After much forgiveness, I have decided that my patience has run out. As you know, I value competence, wit, and cunning above all else, as my ancestor the great Salazar Slytherin did. I cannot tolerate incompetence in the Death Eater ranks, Lucius." His mouth thinned into a smirk.

"I'm sure you can understand."

Not trusting himself to speak, Lucius nodded once, a quick jerk of the head.

"Of course, my Lord," Narcissa whispered.

"Now," his eyes narrowed dangerously, "let's find out exactly how deep your betrayal runs.

"When I attempted to kill Harry Potter on Halloween night and all but my soul vanished from the earth, you were one of the many that claimed you were innocent of what the Ministry considers the crime of joining my ranks. When I found out, I was most disappointed; you had been one of my most loyal followers at the height of my power.

"Eleven years after my supposed demise, I contacted you through my diary, which I had enchanted during my own education at Hogwarts, and you, as I'd instructed, placed the book in the care of the Weasley girl. But you failed to follow through, to ensure the plan was sound and would be carried out as thoroughly as I required. The basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets was killed, and yet another sort of piece of me destroyed by Harry Potter, all because of your incompetence."

From his robes, Lord Voldemort withdrew a thin, brown wand with the smooth grain running down its length. It fit eerily well in the man's long, spidery fingers, which wrapped around and caressed it. Lucius tensed.

"Two years after that, when Peter Pettigrew of all people nursed me and returned me to a body of my own, I summoned all my Death Eaters to the Little Hangleton graveyard to kill Harry Potter. To my disappointment, you were one of the many that had made no attempt to find me after the Halloween of 1981, prioritizing your safety over loyalty to me."

"I assure you, I exercised all of my power to remain loyal to you, my Lord," Lucius whispered.

"You had, time and time again, put you and your family before your Lord," he continued, a fraction louder.

Lucius was panicking now. "I did no such thing, my Lord–"

"Lies! You did every such thing I have listed and more! Dare you deny it? Crucio!"

Lucius was thrown backward by the force of the curse, and he writhed against the wall, shrieking in agony. Then Voldemort stopped, and he was left panting, faint, and nauseous. Lucius struggled to get on his hands and knees, and he sensed that the Dark Lord was enjoying watching him struggle.

"You had, time and time again, put you and your family before your Lord," Voldemort repeated softly, though it carried across the vast dining room. "So, I gave you a very important task: to bring me the prophecy that would provide me with the last bit of information I required to defeat Harry Potter. You, once again, failed me."

Lucius whimpered, trying to think fast. Too much information was being given to him. Something malicious was going to happen. One of His phrases irked Lucius. So, I gave you… Voldemort had said. So…

"I kept you out of Azkaban, and in return, I gave Draco the task that killed him." Lucius gasped at the mention of his son's name. "A task that has proved impossible for decades of witches and wizards, let alone a sixth-year. It was an exchange of services, but not your son's life for your imprisonment, no… I exchanged your son's life for all of your failures, Lucius."

Lucius was now sobbing. "No…" he moaned. He now realized what had happened, what he had fallen into, what his family had fallen into–

"Oh yes. Yes, Lucius you rather did fall perfectly into my spider web of revenge. Yes, you were being 'played' from the graveyard. I am surprised you figured that out in this state. You've an able mind when you're desperate. A pity.

"Well, I say I gave Draco the task that killed him. But even I cannot plan for everything. I expected him to fail, as his father did, and then I would get to play with him before disposing of him. But then, Severus Snape performed the fateful deed, and while that loyalty was rewarded, Draco killed himself.

"He killed himself, Lucius. You gave me a defective son. He was faulty, damaged, too flawed to be a Death Eater."

Despite his condition, Lucius could feel himself raising his hackles at the derogatory way in which Voldemort spoke of his son. But then, to his him surprise, a timid voice responded. "I agree, my Lord."

The soulless man smiled, a horrific tightening of his face. "Thank you, Narcissa, for your loyal and undying servitude. Tell me, should not Draco have been stronger?"

"I said the exact same thing myself, my Lord."

Lucius inhaled sharply at her words. "Narcissa, how can you say this?"

"Silence!" Voldemort boomed. "And shouldn't your family repay the debt his failure has cost me?"

Narcissa's jaw clenched. "We should pay in whatever way you see fit, my Lord."

The man smiled again. "See here, Lucius. You could take some notes from your wife. She knows the true meaning of fealty. Narcissa, you will be rewarded most bounteously for your faithfulness."

"Thank you, my Lord," she whispered and ducked her head.

"I thought the death of your heir would be sufficient payment for your and Draco's failures, but as the circumstances have changed, so has the price."

Voldemort rose from the head chair at the end of the table and strode over to where Lucius lay.

"Lucius, you and your son have failed your Lord numerous times most grievously, and it is time for you to suffer.

"You wish to redeem yourself for the mistakes that have led to your son's death?" Voldemort picked the man up off the floor by the front of his robes.

Fearfully, Lucius nodded. He now realized why all this information was being given to him, why Voldemort had shared more of his thoughts with him within these thirty minutes than he had in Lucius's 26 years of service to him. This time, Lord Voldemort knew exactly when and where a Malfoy was going to die.

"Pay a life for a life," Voldemort whispered. "Your son did the worst thing imaginable to himself because of your failures. Allow me to help you atone in the same fashion."

Lucius stared up at the high ceiling of the dining room, but he looked through it, to the heavens, where he knew his son would be waiting. He nodded.

Voldemort let go of Lucius robes and suspended him in the air with his wand. "Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, you are being executed on the charges of multiple failures and costs to your family and, most importantly, to the Dark Lord. You have been a failure as a Death Eater, as a servant, and as a father. Have you any last words."

"I renounce Narcissa Black as my wife," he choked out. "I only regret the decisions that have brought Lord Voldemort into my house, my life, and my family. I renounce all ways of the Death Eaters and swear no fealty to Lord Voldemort."

To himself, he whispered, "My debt is repaid. Draco, my son, I hope when we see each other you can forgive me."

He looked once again up at the ceiling through to the heavens. Then he was falling, then the world was green, and then he was floating, with the sound of _"Avada Kedavra!"_ ringing in his ears.


	43. Closure

**A/N: Written for Round 9 of the Houses Competition forum for Slytherin House as a drabble.**

 **Prompt: 9. He/She/They should not have buried it in the woods.**

 **Word Count: 497**

He should not have buried it in the woods.

The war had just ended, and he realized he was missing it. The Resurrection Stone.

It wasn't as if he was really going to do anything with the Stone. It was just that he'd felt that he needed to hold it. He thought it would provide him with… closure, maybe, to be able to know where it was.

How wrong he was.

So, it had been easy to remember exactly where he'd left it, discarding the only connection, as unnatural as it was, to his parents. And two days after Voldemort's downfall, he went and buried the thing, even leaving a big, fat _X_ on top.

Now the war had been over for twenty-three years, two months, and twenty-nine days. And he found his mind drifting to the mound of dirt that held his last connection to the dead.

It was futile to resist. He'd resisted the Stone's pull for two months after his latest excursion into the past. Now it was time to answer the call. He exhaled and shook his head. Closure, indeed.

He apparated to Hogsmeade and walked toward the forest, noticing the still-abandoned Shrieking Shack. He entered into the silent trees. How many times had the Marauders romped through the brush, young, carefree, and vibrant?

He stopped. Between his feet, which had taken him to the burial ground on autopilot, was a small lump of earth. The _X_ had long since been trampled over, but that had only been a formality.

Harry reached the Stone quickly. It remained luminescent and clean against his dirty hands and fingernails, untouched by the soil. He turned the Stone thrice in his hand. And they appeared.

His mother smiled, the same as he'd seen her on Halloween, yet sadness permeated her gaze. His father was also the same, looking like a seventeen-year-old Harry. Padfoot and Moony smiled at him as well, cheerful and buoyant as they must have been in their youth; oddly, death seemed to have been good to them. Harry was painfully aware that he was visibly older than any of them had ever been.

"We know why you're here," Sirius said.

"We'll always be with you," James told him, "whether we're as tangible as we are now, or just whispers in your conscious."

"You won't find what you're looking for with us, pup," Remus said gently. "Your place is with the living, with your family."

"I just… didn't want the last time I saw you to be on… on Halloween."

"We understand," Lily whispered. She held his face in her hands. He leaned into the cold touch. "But now you must leave us, my son. Go."

Slowly, they faded, one by one. Harry walked to the edge of the forest. Digging his nails into his palm, with his other arm, he chucked the Stone into the Black Lake. Immediately after, lest he lose his nerve, he walked away, into the woods.

And he never came back.


	44. One Year to Repent

**A/N: Written for Round 9 of the Houses Competition for Slytherin House as a short story.**

 **Prompt: 7. [Irish Toast] May you live one hundred years, with one extra to repent.**

 **Words in bold taken directly from Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. The sentence belongs to J. K. Rowling.**

 **Word count: 729**

 _May you live one hundred years, with one extra to repent._

He'd received the message with a newspaper clipping back in his office a few days ago. The headline on it read: _Gellert Grindelwald Escaped From Nurmengard; Presumed Dead._

Albus Dumbledore sighed to himself as he walked with Harry, explaining to him the anomaly that was Horace Slughorn. _It took you long enough to break out, Gellert,_ he thought, his mind far away from the conversation he was having with Harry. _You only built Nurmengard, after all._ He'd heard about it in the _Daily Prophet_ , of course; the Ministry would want to prove that they were at least a reliable source of information and encourage the public with news of the death of the second darkest wizard in history. But it was nice to receive the message from Gellert all the same as a last farewell before he died.

While Albus wasn't fooled into thinking his former lover was actually dead, he was not worried either. With the rumors of the Elder Wand still circling around Grindelwald's head, it was only a matter of time until the Dark Lord caught up to Grindelwald. Quite ironic that he now held the item he and Gellert had so coveted in his hands at this very moment.

 _May you live one hundred years, with one extra to repent._

Albus remembered the first time he'd heard the toast: at a pub in Ireland he and Gellert had snuck off to when they were bored. They'd each taught themselves to Apparate, so it was no trouble at all, and the night had been filled with much dancing, drinks, and laughter. At the end of the night, when the pub had finally been closing up, the barkeep had raised his own tankard and said the toast, and the patrons had repeated it, oddly solemnly for an end-of-the-night farewell. Albus remembered that Gellert had looked him straight in the eyes, as if he truly wished for the two of them to spend a century together, ruling the world.

 _Then again, that was all he was ever interested in,_ Albus reminded himself. _Ruling the world. He's gone dark now, and he'll be dead soon. As will I._

He squeezed his withered, blackened hand under his cloak for the tenth time that day, as if thinking that now it would be back to normal again. He'd been extremely stupid to make such a mistake. The old pull of a Hallow shouldn't have affected him so. His goal in the remainder of his life was to find and kill Voldemort; his goal was to repent.

Perhaps his death was long overdue as well as poetic. Albus had lived sixteen years and a century, and in that time had truly damaged the wizarding world. He'd helped bring Grindelwald into power, fueling the man's desires in his blind, youthful infatuation. And he'd taught Tom Riddle at Hogwarts for seven years; all the time his suspicions had heightened as the boy's genocidal ideas developed, and yet he'd watched passively. Thousands of opportunities wasted…

And Harry. Tom Riddle, his own student that had grown to be the darkest wizard of all time, had also grown to decimate the lives of his current students. Riddle murdered the boy's parents, and then Albus threw him into an abusive home for ten years, believing in his own motives, believing it would be better for Harry in the long run, believing it would better for the bleeding greater good just as nearsightedly as he had believed in Gellert.

 _May you live one hundred years, with one extra to repent._

 _Well,_ Albus told himself, grabbing Harry's arm and preparing to Disapparate to the Burrow, _you've lived well over one hundred years; now it's time for you to repent._

Albus had sheltered the boy, selfishly, fearfully, detrimentally; he knew that now. Keeping Harry in the dark had only given him less time to prepare for the inevitable. Now it was time to repent by giving Harry the only weapon Albus could pass on: information. His pensieve would come in handy…

He spun on his heel and was plunged into suffocating darkness before he and Harry appeared outside the crooked tower of rooms that was the Burrow.

 **"If you don't mind, Harry," said Albus as they passed through the gate, "I'd like a few words with you before we part."**


	45. I Love You, Draconis Malfoy

**A/N: Written for Round 9 of the Houses Competition forum for Slytherin House as a themed story.**

 **Prompt: 1. [Speech] "I can't marry him/her/them! He/She/They would kill me the first week!"**

 **WARNING: Mentions of rape**

 **Word Count: 3,472**

"I don't believe it!" Druella's screech carried throughout the marble halls of the vast Manor. "She's– she's gone and married that– that Mudblood!"

Narcissa followed quickly after the thunder of her father's footsteps to the dining room. Her mother was sitting, pale, next to the head chair that was reserved for her father. A letter opener was on the ground, and her mother's fist was clenched so tightly around a piece of parchment her knuckles were white. Cygnus took the letter from his wife's hand and read the message quickly, the color draining out of his face as his eyes reached the bottom of the page.

"What's happened, Father?" Narcissa asked.

"Your sister has gone and run away with that Mudblood she fancied – what was his name, Tom?"

"Ted," Narcissa corrected quietly, but her father continued on his tirade.

"Filthy, common dirt! Imagine what the Parkinsons will say! Such disgrace! How could she do this to the family?! Have we taught her nothing?!"

"She'll have to be disowned," Druella cut in, regaining some of her usual composure and taking control. "That's the only way to prove to the rest of the Sacred Twenty Eight that we won't hold with such dishonorable blood in our lineage. She dares to defile the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black! Cygnus! Bring her and Bella here immediately! I want to see the look on her face when she realizes she is no longer welcome in this House!"

Not daring to disobey his wife, Cygnus disapparated to find his two eldest daughters. _Soon to be one eldest daughter,_ Narcissa thought as her mother began smashing expensive china. She knew she should be angry at Andromeda, but her sister had always been so kind. And she wondered, was marrying a Mudblood all that bad? But she didn't allow herself to dwell on it further; she didn't need her parents casting her out as they had Andromeda.

"First I bear three daughters and now this!" Narcissa heard when she tuned back in. "Merlin knows Bella won't bear a child if she can help it! You know what this means for you, don't you?!" Druella cried, bearing down on her youngest. Narcissa stepped back.

"No, mother," she squeaked.

"None of your sisters are left to carry on the family lineage! If you had to find a suitable husband before, that was nothing to the pressure Walburga will put on me now! What with her eldest being sorted into Gryffindor, _someone's_ got to make sure our line is continued. Do you hear me, Narcissa?!"

"Yes, mother."

Narcissa was saved from having to talk about marriage further as three _pops_ and Bella's screams and Andromeda's attempts to escape announced the return of her father and sisters.

* * *

One Year Later

"Ha ha!" Druella Black's cry rent the air. "I've got it! I've finally got it!"

"What, mother?" Narcissa asked before taking a dainty bite of her toast.

"I've found you a suitor!"

Narcissa coughed, and crumbs clogged her throat. Nevertheless, she swallowed down the toast and emerged, red-faced. "You've found me a what?"

"A suitor! Honestly, Narcissa, haven't you been thinking? You're about to enter your last year at Hogwarts. It's time for you to start thinking about marriage! I can't believe I've only just arranged you; I'd been arranged to your father for two years when I was your age!"

"Arranged?" Narcissa choked, horrified. "You mean I'm already betrothed?"

"Yes, isn't it wonderful?" her mother crowed, mistaking Narcissa's shocked tone for delight.

"Well, who am I to marry?" Narcissa asked fearfully, trying to control herself. Her mother had been surveying the pool of Pureblood boys to find a suitable son-in-law since Narcissa had turned ten; this shouldn't come as a shock, she reasoned. _Maybe she's found someone who won't be so horrible. Maverick Nott wouldn't be too bad, or perhaps Nicholas Parkinson…_

"Lucius Malfoy," her mother said grandly.

Narcissa's eyes bulged out of her head. Second to probably only her family, the Malfoys were the proudest Pureblood supremacists of the Sacred Twenty Eight, possibly even in magical Britain. Abraxas Malfoy's son, Lucius, was the most horrid boy Narcissa had set eyes on. He wasn't bad looking (in fact, some of Narcissa's friends thought he was rather handsome), but he was smarmy, sneaky, and power-hungry. He hexed first-years in the hallways to make himself feel better and spat on anyone who was, as his parents had taught him, below someone of as pure blood as a Malfoy. More than that, he was rude and dismissive to his friends, all of whom belonged to a group of upperclassmen from families of the Sacred Twenty Eight that were primed to become Death Eaters at ages as low as sixteen. Throughout her whole sixth year, she'd been a special target of Lucius's, as Andromeda's disgrace spread quickly through the Sacred Twenty Eight's gossip circle. Taunts had been hissed at her every time she entered or exited a room, and she still had a scar from one of the many stinging hexes that had been thrown away.

"Mum!" Narcissa burst out. She had not called her mother "mum", nor yelled at her, since she was probably five years old. This time her tone was unmistakably angry.

"Narcissa! How dare you speak to me in such a tone! I tried to hint at the Nott boy, you know, but the shame she" – Druella's eyes narrowed as they always did when referring to Andromeda– "brought when she eloped swayed Lord Nott against you. I'm sorry, dear, but the Malfoys are perfectly respectable, more so even, than the Notts–"

"I can't marry him! He would kill me the first week!"

"What in Merlin's name would compel you to say such a thing about your fiance?! Lucius is a wealthy, handsome, Pureblood lad that would give you a fine heir! What's not to like?"

"He's vile and cruel and cares about no one but himself! I'd be miserable in wedlock with him!"

"I daresay you don't know him well enough for that! Wait until you meet him; I have it all arranged for our Summer Ball–"

"Mother!"

"I will not hear any more protests! You will meet Lucius and you will like him!"

"Don't you love me? Don't you want me to be happy? Your youngest daughter? I can't marry someone like that mother, I can't!"

"What utter nonsense! Go to your room unless you want to be blasted off the tapestry the same way as your sister!"

Narcissa obliged, tears streaming down her face as she rushed up the stairs as fast as her heels would allow.

"And don't think this means I'm calling off your meeting! I _will_ have an heir, Narcissa!"

The only response she received was a slammed door.

* * *

Three Weeks Later

Narcissa glowered at herself in the mirror. She's been shoved into a pale green, sheer dress with a silk piece sewn on the inside to conceal the… unseemly parts of her body. Her hair was done up in an elaborate braid that made itself into a crown running along the back of her head. She looked beautiful– that was the problem. She wanted Lucius to like her as little as possible, but her mother insisted that she looked "presentable as a fiancee".

"Narcissa!" her mother's voice hissed from through the door. "Are you ready?"

"Yes, mother," she said quietly.

"Well, get downstairs! Everyone is waiting!"

Resigning herself, Narcissa opened the door and found that her mother had already gone. She followed quickly, through the long corridor to the landing and down the grand staircase that led to the ballroom. Steeling herself, she opened the door.

The ballroom was filled with acquaintances and relatives. The Blacks hosted a Summer Ball every year, but this one was most elaborate, as Lord Black and Lord Malfoy were going to announce the engagement of their two children. The papers had become official only two days ago. On January 7th, 1972, Narcissa Black was going to become Lady Narcissa Malfoy.

Narcissa was first waylaid by Sylvia Parkinson, her best friend from Hogwarts.

"Are the rumors true? Are you really going to be married, Cissy?" Sylvia asked excitedly.

"Happy Holidays to you too," Narcissa replied. When Sylvia gave her a scolding look, however, Narcissa nodded solemnly.

Sylvia squealed. "Oh Merlin, that's wonderful! I'm so happy for you!" She pulled Narcissa into a very unladylike hug. "And to Lucius Malfoy no less! You've gotten lucky, Cissy! Do you know how many girls are pining for him? I know for a fact that Emma Rosier burst into tears when she heard!"

"Yeah, it's really wonderful," Narcissa said tonelessly, grabbing a flute of champagne from a passing House Elf and downing it quickly.

Sylvia didn't seem to pick up on her melancholy, because she chattered on, "And it's really great for your family's name, you know, what with Andromeda running away with a Mudblood." She wrinkled her nose, as if the word brought a dirty smell to mind. "And it will make you look really great in comparison, you know–"

"May I speak with you for a minute?"

Narcissa jumped and turned. She mentally cursed. Lucius Malfoy was standing over her, smiling in way she did not like at all.

Sylvia grinned and nudged Narcissa towards the blond, mouthing, "Go on". Narcissa had no choice but to be pulled away into a corner of the room to be alone with Lucius Malfoy.

The boy looked her up and down as if sizing up a race horse. His eyes lingered on places that made Narcissa shift an try to cover herself. Why did her dress have to be sheer?

"So…" Lucius said slowly. "We're to be married."

"We are," Narcissa said shortly.

"We'll move to my Manor, of course," Lucius said briskly, as if discussing a business deal. "We have a very large estate, I assure you," he said, misreading Narcissa's looked of suppressed surprise for skepticism. "Beautiful gardens, House Elves to cater to your every need, peacocks strutting about the place – we can't resist showing off, you know–"

"Oh." Narcissa looked down.

"What's the matter?" he asked, not kindly.

"I– I'm afraid of birds," Narcissa confessed.

"Well, you don't have to go near them, then," Lucius told her shortly. "I'm to go into my father's position in the Wizengamot soon, and his place on the board of governors at Hogwarts; Dumbledore's a Mudblood-loving crackpot as ever, and someone needs to keep Hogwarts functional. We can find you some sewing or gardening or something for you to spend time doing, something ladylike of course, but nothing too challenging–"

"I quite like cursebreaking," Narcissa said quietly. "I've gotten quite good at it too–"

"I'd have you cook, but that's what we have House Elves for, isn't it?"

"I imagine we'll need to get to know each other," Narcissa cut in forcefully, growing angry.

"What?" Lucius looked shocked that he'd been interrupted. "Oh, yes, I suppose so. I'll take you on all the usual dates, of course. But all that is really formalities; we're only marrying for political status of our blood lines. We need political status so that we stay honorable in the eyes of the other Sacred Twenty Eight, you see–"

"I quite know how the balance of Pureblood politics works, thank you very much," Narcissa ground out.

Lucius looked nonplussed, but he was saved from having to respond by the clinking of metal against glass. Narcissa saw her father and Lord Malfoy climb onto the stage in front of the conductor, who was directing soft classical music with his wand.

"We have an announcement to make," Lord Malfoy called.

"Yes, yes, thank you Abraxas," Cygnus said as the Lords and Ladies quieted and turned to look at them. "It has been the honor of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black to host a Summer Ball every year for the community of the Sacred Twenty Eight, and we welcome you all back warmly to our humble home. Thank you all for joining us." There was a smattering of applause. "Yes, thank you, thank you… But there was another reason we called you all here today. It is the great pleasure of the Most Ancient and Noble Houses of Black and Malfoy to announce the engagement of our two heirs– Lady Narcissa Black, my youngest, and Lord Lucius Malfoy, Lord Abraxas Malfoy's heir. Would Narcissa and Lucius come up here, please?"

Shocked, Narcissa hid her emotion under a smile and waved to the crowd as she and Lucius made their way to stand by their fathers.

"The wedding will take place on January the 7th," Lord Malfoy told the crowd. "The ceremony will take place at Malfoy Manor. Invitations will be sent out shortly. Let us now all raise a glass to Lucius and Narcissa."

"To Lucius and Narcissa," the guests repeated, and everyone drank. There was now much more enthusiastic applause from the members of the Sacred Twenty Eight, and Narcissa and Lucius descended back to the floor to many congratulations and handshakes and greetings from relatives.

"Narcissa!" Walburga Black swept grandly over to her niece and gave her two pecks on the cheeks. "When I heard, I was so glad! It's a good thing you turned out good and proper like your parents and Bella! I'm sure Lucius will be very happy with you. I've always thought you were the best daughter: quiet, obedient, pretty enough. Bella had the right ideas but was much too forceful for a lady. And we all know what happened with Andromeda." She grimaced. "You'll produce an excellent heir." Lucius, standing behind her, winked saucily at these words. Narcissa had to stop herself from jumping and gasping in surprise and horror.

"Congratulations again!" her aunt called as she sauntered away in her furs.

 _Yes, I'm sure Lucius would be happy with the quiet, obedient, pretty daughter, Aunt Walburga,_ Narcissa thought.

* * *

January 7th, 1972

Once again, Narcissa stood in front of the mirror, repulsed with the dress she was in. It was new, pristinely white, and had the longest train she'd ever seen. Small, white flowers adorned the tight bodice, and starting at her waist, the silk fanned out to create an enormous skirt. As was tradition, she was wearing her mother's old wedding shoes. Sylvia's necklace, which had a glimmering pearl in the middle as a pendant, was around her neck. A crown of blue forget-me-nots held her long, lace veil in place. Her mother had told her she looked "stunning"; it was the first real praise she'd received since she was a toddler, yet Narcissa didn't want it.

What she really didn't want, however, was to have to step out of this dressing room and walk down the aisle to be married to Lucius Malfoy.

He'd taken her on typical dates: restaurants, picnics, boats, and the like. He was surprising civil, but that was all he was. All the time, he was withdrawn and only willing to exchange pleasantries and talk about his job or politics. It was if she was one of his business partners. Narcissa had no clue about anything that really went on in Lucius's head; she was going to marry him without knowing who he really was (though she suspected that he just might be airheaded enough to care about only what he talked about).

But one thing had been made clear to her throughout their time together: Lucius was in no way interested in marrying for love. He was not even remotely interested in getting to know the woman he'd have to spend the rest of his life with. Narcissa had thought maybe they could learn to love each other as they ventured into married life. But to Lucius, this was not a life decision. No, this was just another business deal, a transaction to make sure he remained climbing up the status ladder. Narcissa was just another rung on the ladder, and she knew she would be passed over and stepped on without a second thought as he climbed his way to the top.

Nevertheless, she'd entered a legally and magically binding contract. She had to uphold the family name and maintain her status as well; there was no backing out.

"What's wrong?" Sylvia asked. Her best friend was, of course, her maid of honor, and was making sure that her hair was set in place. "You don't look like a happy bride-to-be."

"I just… always figured I'd marry for love, not social status," Narcissa confessed. "Bella and Andromeda were both older than me, and I thought they'd get married off respectably, so I;d have room to pick someone for myself." She sighed and met Sylvia's eyes in the mirror. "I suppose I was wrong."

"We are part of the Noble Houses of the Sacred Twenty Eight," Sylvia said. "What did you think think was? A Beedle the Bard tale? Where everyone lives happily ever after? We all have our part to play to ensure that Pure Blood reigns supreme; this is yours."

"They're ready," her mother's voice called. The faint sound of an organ played in the background.

"Coming," Narcissa sighed. She gave Sylvia a grim smile and walked out to meet her father at the beginning of the aisle. As he took her arm and the doors opened and everyone stood, Narcissa's mind was racing. She had the foreboding feeling she was making a grave mistake. But as soon as she could blink, she was at the altar, staring into the cold, steely grey of Lucius's eyes. She saw his lips forming words and then stop. Now it was time for her to say her vows. She recited them from memory, her mind far away in a life with a faceless man that she was nevertheless much happier with than she was now. Then the officiator's voice cut in.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride."

Narcissa saw Lucius's face descending upon hers and panicked for a moment, but then their lips met and a cheer went up in the crowd.

That was it. The deal had been sealed.

* * *

June 5, 1980

The cry of a baby rent the air. Narcissa was breathing heavily, sweatier than she'd ever been, exhausted, starving, and in pain, but she was happier than she'd been in almost a decade. She had a baby.

The Healer took away a wriggling, wet, red lump and Narcissa could see cleaning and testing charms being done. Then, her child was swaddled in a blanket and handed into her arms.

"It's a boy!" the Healer whispered to her.

Narcissa cried in happiness. This was her child. She was holding her little baby boy. Finally.

With the number of miscarriages, Narcissa was sure that she wouldn't be able to have an heir. It had taken force on Lucius's part to get her impregnated this time; she'd felt violated, dirty, and was seriously considering divorce when she ran to Andromeda, of all people, who'd been livid. But then she found that she was pregnant again. She'd have to stay with Lucius if she didn't want her child to be born into disgrace. So, hating Lucius, herself, and her family, Narcissa had stayed.

But more than fearing disgrace, Narcissa had been terrified of not being a mother. She couldn't care less if her child was a suitable heir to the Black and Malfoy names; as long as he was healthy and happy, so was she.

"What will we name him?" a soft, fear-instilling voice whispered. She looked up at Lucius, who was leaning over her at his son.

 _His son._ Technically, Lucius had sired the boy, but Narcissa wouldn't love the child any less for it. The baby looked so much like Lucius, with his platinum blond hair and grey eyes. But as the newborn looked at his mother with wide eyes, instead of the dull grey of metal, Narcissa saw the lights of stars and magic in her son's eyes.

And she made a vow: she would get her son away from her husband. _Her rapist,_ her mind corrected. Her own body bore the physical, mental and emotional scars of their marriage, but her boy would not be harmed in any way by Lucius Malfoy. She knew immediately that she loved this child with every fiber of her being, and he would know how much his mother cared. Narcissa's son would not grow up like she had.

"Draconis," she whispered back.

"Draconis Lucius Malfoy," Lucius said importantly. "Excellent." He crossed the room to deliver the good news to Druella, Cygnus, and Abraxas.

Draco yawned and closed his eyes. "That's right, my little Dragon," Narcissa murmured, so only he could hear. "Go to sleep. Momma's got you. No one will ever hurt you while I'm here. I love you, Draconis Malfoy."


	46. Bonded

**A/N: Written for the Houses Competition forum and the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Challenges and Assignments forum. Soulmate!AU. Wolfstar.**

 **Houses Competition:**

 **House: Slytherin**

 **Round 10**

 **Category: short story**

 **Prompt: [date] April 13th**

 **Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Challenges and Assignments:**

 **House: Hufflepuff**

 **Assignment 10**

 **Class: Muggle Music**

 **Task: 3– It's Raining Men- The Weather Girls**

 **Prompt: 1. Soulmate!AU**

 **Word count: 1995**

 **Enjoy!**

Remus Lupin couldn't sleep. Tomorrow was April 13th– his twenty-second birthday. It was very strange and nerve-wracking to imagine that when he woke up, he'd be in a body that was not his.

Remus looked down at his forearm. Stay here. I'll find you. He'd written the message to his soulmate – whoever that would be. Out of anxiety, he grabbed a quill and traced the message again before beginning to pace.

"Ready for tomorrow?"

Remus whirled; James Potter was poking his head through the door. They'd met at Hogwarts and, after school, rented a Muggle-London apartment. "It'll be so weird."

"I know."

Remus was the first to go on his Search. Searching was a joyous event anticipated and celebrated by everyone. Overnight, before one turned twenty-two, they were brought to their soulmate's body to find each other during the twenty-four-hour Search.

 _What if something goes wrong and we can't switch?_ Remus thought. _Or we don't speak the same language and never find each other? Or what if they can't accept a werewolf?_

"Hey." James's voice brought Remus back to the present. "You alright?"

"Yeah, just nervous."

"Fate put you with someone that'll work out. Don't worry."

"Sure."

"Get some sleep, mate," James told him, and left.

Remus crossed to his window and stared at the stars, worries rocketing around his mind. Light from the street lamps illuminated the room. To calm himself, Remus labeled the constellations. The Canis Major shone brightly, marked by the star Sirius. Remus's eyes began to droop. The shouts from the city faded as his cheek pressed against the radiator and the pleasant, warm air sent Remus to sleep.

* * *

April 13th

"Up, boy!" A screech woke Remus suddenly. "Why aren't you awake?"

He was in an unfamiliar room. He blinked blearily and saw walls painted red by poorly-done magic.

Remus touched his cheek. Radiator lines that would've been indented there weren't present. Remus trailed his hand down and paused. Stubble.

The memories of the previous day came crashing back. He was twenty-two. He was not Remus at all; he was his soulmate.

Remus dashed over to a large, ornate mirror mounted onto one of the vast walls. Instead of his long, lanky body, he saw a highly attractive man looking back at him.

He examined the body in awe. Remus ran his hands over the toned muscles on his arms and chest, tracing the five o'clock shadow on his jawline, ignoring laughter from the mirror. Piercing, grey eyes stared back at Remus and black hair swooshed elegantly to his shoulders.

Remus gazed around the large, naturally-lit room. The furniture was dark hardwood; bay windows opened onto a busy street. Band posters hung on the walls. Parchment, quills, and ink lay untouched on a desk. The red duvet was crumpled up. A Sneakoscope spun on the side-table next to a wand.

Remus crossed to the dresser and opened the drawers. He gaped at the designer robes that lay inside. He chose one and pulled them on before grabbing the wand.

"How many times am I to tell you that you are required to be punctual to breakfast?!" The door burst open and the screech's owner, a fierce woman in black robes carrying a cane, bustled in and smacked Remus with her cane, hard.

Remus doubled over in pain, red welts already forming on his shins. His soulmate must be younger than him, and therefore had no idea their Search began today. This happened often; Remus was sure he could explain.

"Get downstairs!"

"It's my twenty-second–"

"You ungrateful brat! We're all waiting!"

"Ma'am!"

"'Ma'am' now, am I? You're showing me some respect, finally?"

"I'm not your son. I'm his soulmate. It's my twenty-second birthday, you see–"

"Is it?" she huffed. "Well, come downstairs and we'll see how you… measure up."

Her tone told Remus this couldn't mean anything good, and he followed her resignedly down a steep stone staircase.

"Ma'am?" he ventured. "What is my soulmate's name?"

"Sirius."

"A-and your name, ma'am?"

"Walburga Black," she stated pompously. Remus recognized the name of the Sacred Twenty-Eight family, and doubts crept into his mind. He hoped his soulmate was unlike his mother.

They descended two flights of stairs and walked through long corridors until they reached tall, thin double-doors. Walburga opened them and Remus's gasped.

They entered a vast dining room. A glittering chandelier hung from the ceiling and a sharply-cut black marble table, long enough to seat twenty guests, sat in the center. The walls were lined with hutches carrying expensive liquors.

Remus looked at the table itself and noticed two figures sitting at it. At the head, was a tall man with a grave expression. Two seats from his right was a boy that looked startlingly like Remus's soulmate, only younger.

"Sirius is going through his Search," Walburga announced. "This young lady is his soulmate."

"I'm actually–"

Walburg ignored him. "This is my husband, Orion Black, and my son Regulus."

Orion sized him up as Remus sat on his left. Walburga took the seat between Orion and Regulus and plates of food appeared in front of them. Finding himself ravenous, Remus reached for the food.

"Your name?"

Remus looked up. Orion was looking at him expectantly. He swallowed his toast quickly and said, "Remus Lupin." The man looked at him quizzically. "I'm a boy, sir," Remus supplied.

The family looked scandalized. Settling for a look of dignified disdain, Walburga went back to her breakfast stiffly.

"And what do you do?" Orion pressed.

"I'm studying to get a potions mastery, sir."

"You're a wizard, at least."

"Pureblood, I presume?" Walburga asked.

"Halfblood, ma'am," Remus said quietly. He looked down at his plate as the family exchanged aghast looks.

They continued to eat in silence, the Blacks glancing at Remus with contempt.

Finally, Walburga burst out, "If you have any more unpleasantries up your sleeve, you may as well tell us now."

"There actually is one more thing," Remus whispered. "Well, I'm a… werewolf."

Remus closed his eyes, waiting for the explosion. When nothing came, he dared to peek. Oron was very pale but Walburga was almost purple, breathing heavily.

"Get out," Orion hissed. Remus sprang out of his seat and ran. Unfortunately, Walburga followed.

"If you ever darken our doorstep again, you'll never see the light of day!" she shrieked. Remus yelped as a stinging hex hit his back, but he kept running through the corridors, up the stairs, and into the foyer. A red jet of light, a Cruciatus Curse, whizzed past his ear, and Remus felt a burst of adrenaline carry him all the way out the front door.

Walburga's screams of "Filthy half-breed!" were cut off as he exited the house, which disappeared from sight.

Remus slowed and jogged down the street to an intersection. He put the disturbing visit to Sirius's house out of his mind and concentrated on finding his soulmate himself. A street sign read Grimmauld Place. Thank Merlin, he was still in London. He could Apparate back to his flat; hopefully Sirius had followed the message he'd left on his arm.

Remus found a hidden back alley, turned on the spot, appeared back in front of his flat, and knocked. James opened the door, still in pajamas with mussed hair.

"That you, Remus?" he asked. Remus nodded. "Blimey, this is weird. Come on, a guy named Sirius is here, been in a right state since he woke up…"

At Sirius's name, Remus's heart skipped a beat. He crossed the doorway into their living room. James began pouring coffee for himself while sitting at the kitchen table was… himself. But then not-Remus looked at him and the real Remus realized he was looking at his soulmate for the first time.

As the two men made eye contact, Remus was reminded of the piercing gaze that had stared at him from the mirror back in Grimmauld Place. It showed energy and life and… worry. And they were getting closer. Remus realized that Sirius – in Remus's body – was rushing towards him. Before he knew it, he was being pulled into a fierce hug.

"Did she hurt you? Yes, you have a cut on your back, it was a stinging hex, wasn't it? I know exactly how to fix it– I'm so sorry– I didn't know the Search was today, my birthday's in November, if I'd known, I'd've remembered to leave and write something, I'm so sorry–"

Remus, who'd been standing stock-still at the fact that he was being hugged by Sirius and at the strangeness of being hugged by himself, suddenly realized what Sirius was talking about.

"Hey, it's okay. Come on, sit down." Remus made Sirius sit back down, accepted a mug of tea from James, and handed it to Sirius. "I'm alright. And you couldn't have known it was the Search today." Despite Sirius's state, he couldn't help but be touched that this man cared so much about him.

"You're sure you're alright? I'm so sorry."

"Don't apologize. I'm here now." Remus was suddenly aware of how he was touching Sirius's shoulder in comfort. He withdrew his hand immediately, feeling himself blush. Get ahold of yourself.

Sirius had finally drank some tea and was much calmer. An awkward silence hung in the air.

"Well, I'm Sirius," Sirius said abruptly.

"Remus," he replied. After a pause, Remus cleared his throat pointedly, then rolled his eyes. "James?"

"Oh, right, sorry." James exited the kitchen.

"So, you've met my mum," Sirius said. "I just want you to know that I'm nothing like my family. I don't care about blood status or anything, and obviously I don't care that you're a boy, I mean…" He looked down in embarrassment.

Remus smiled. "That's good to know." Sirius looked up and smiled back, and Remus felt his heart skip again. "But, before anything else, I need to tell you…"

Sirius looked at him curiously.

"I-I'm a… werewolf." Remus stared resolutely at the linoleum floor. "I understand if you don't wanna have anything to do with me, we can work something out–"

"Remus, I don't care," Sirius cut in. "I had a werewolf friend at school, I'm not fazed at all."

"Really?" Remus looked up, hardly daring to believe it.

"Of course."

Remus gave him a shy smile, which Sirius returned with a grin. After a minute, Remus asked, "So where did you go to school?"

"Durmstrang," Sirius said bitterly. "My parents forced me. You went to Hogwarts?"

"Yeah, Gryffindor."

They sat in silence for another moment. "Listen, I'm really sorry about my family. I hope they weren't too horrible."

"Well, they only shouted at me after I told them I was a werewolf," Remus joked.

Sirius's face remained stony. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault. Don't apologize for it."

"Thanks. I'm glad you got out of there fast enough. I ran away in my sixth year and bought a house of my own. My mother disowned me for it," he said savagely.

"Then why–?"

"Whenever I draw attention that makes the Black family seem remotely good, my mother brings me back to Grimmauld Place for a 'lesson'. She kidnapped me on Tuesday. I lived there for four months once when I graduated with honors in Muggle Studies."

Remus could feel anger swelling inside him. He was filled with sudden hatred towards Sirius's parents for making him suffer.

"You won't have to live there anymore," he announced. "You can stay with me." Sirius looked up sharply and Remus felt his face grow hot at his outburst. "I-I mean, if you want to… I just don't want you to get hurt… It's your choice…"

"Can I?" Sirius asked softly, eagerness in his voice. "I'd really like that."

"Really? It's kind of small…"

Sirius snorted. "Anywhere's better than Grimmauld. Especially if it's with you."

It was Remus's turn to snort, even though he was rather touched. "Am I bonded to a sap?"

"Maybe. Do you mind?"

"No." Remus smiled. "I don't mind at all."


	47. The Fall of the Ministry of Magic

**A/N: Written for the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Challenges and Assignments forum for Hufflepuff House. Assignment 10, Woman's History, Task 2. Underlined text taken directly from Harry potter and the Deathly Hallows.**

 **Prompt: Joan of Arc — Write about someone unexpected having a great influence**

 **Word count: 2,999**

There'd been a definite shift in the mood at the Ministry since Percy had been demoted. He could identify two groups of people: people reasonably scared about a Dark Lord on the loose, and people who seemed far away, reminding Percy of the Lovegood girl– dreamy and unconcerned with what everyone else was panicked about. The DMLE itself, where he now worked, was overrun with these sort of people: news of deaths, Muggle and wizard alike, would reach their ears, and they'd just frown before returning to whatever report they were writing up,

The oddball population was increasing steadily. Percy didn't understand how this was possible: the Prophet reported attacks daily, confirming the strength of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's forces. The Ministry was certainly aware of and working against these occurrences: Percy had spent his entire week charming pamphlets.

Yet these people still ignored everything.

"Weasley?"

"Yes, Mr. Yaxley?" Percy said at once, looking up at his boss.

"Get coffees for Mr. Thicknesse and I."

"Right away."

Percy sped off down the hallway before turning right to the lifts and stood, waiting. Next to him, Rupert Skeeter jogged up.

"Hey, Percy," he said heavily.

"What's with you? The boss again?"

"No, haven't you heard?" Rupert's eyes, usually alight when spreading gossip, remained sober.

"Heard what?" The lift clattered to a halt in front of them and they stepped in.

"Dumbledore's dead."

"What?"

"Yeah, they're saying Snape did it."

"Snape?"

"I couldn't believe it either. And with You-Know-Who back…" He shook his head.

Percy paled and stared at the buttons. His parents always said that Dumbledore was the only one You-Know-Who ever feared…

 _Well, you were smart enough to get away from Dumbledore before this happened,_ Percy told himself. _The Ministry was right: Dumbledore fell eventually, and now You-Know-Who will be going after the Order members. The Ministry will be the only force large enough to stop him._

As Percy thought this, he felt anxiety writhing in his stomach. His family would be more vulnerable now that Dumbledore was gone. He could only hope they'd at least be safe.

"Hey, at least we're with the Ministry. It'll all work out," Rupert assured him. "Just don't look too down about it."

"Why not?" Percy was surprised; the safety Dumbledore had provided to wizarding Britain was well-known and appreciated.

"Word in my department is that big change is coming to the Ministry. The boss has got us working on these horrible new policies to send to other Ministries. There's a rumor about a commission to imprison Muggle-borns. Many of the Heads of Department are becoming Pureblood-supremacist and feeling anti-Dumbledore– not to mention the anti-Potter animosity."

"What d'you mean?"

"Remember two summers ago when the Prophet was printing how much of a loon he was? That attitude's escalated. Boss keeps muttering about how Potter's a threat to the reform; he thinks Potter's still in Britain, and our other project is to draft posters with a Floo address for if someone sees him. They don't put a price on it, but rumor is that they will soon, and the way the boss talks, I wouldn't be surprised if he put a bounty on his head.

"Anyway… see you."

"Yeah, you too."

Percy stepped out into the Atrium, feeling dazed. Dumbledore, dead? A Ministry reform? A commission to force Muggle-borns to prove their magical blood? A bounty on Potter's head? Percy worried his lip as he stepped into line at the coffee counter.

Percy ordered, paid, and waited, mulling over Rupert's information. Surely, the Ministry wouldn't become Pureblood-supremacist? There had to be reasoning behind this; after the First War, the government worked hard to distance themselves from any views He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named held.

The barista called his order and Percy stepped forward and took the tray. He walked back to the lift, gears turning in his mind. No, he decided, the Ministry couldn't go dark, it wouldn't.

"Ah, Weasley, thanks."

Percy looked up to find that his feet had carried him to the DMLE office automatically and he was standing in front of Yaxley.

"Here's your coffee sir," he said, "and I'll just take this to Mr. Thicknesse–"

"Oh no need," Yaxley said, his voice sleek, "I'm going there anyway."

Yaxley wouldn't reduce himself to carrying coffee, Percy thought, but handed the cup over. "Thank you sir."

"Don't mention it," he said, winking.

* * *

"Hey, Terrence," Percy yawned, greeting the maintenance worker. The reedy man nodded, ponytail bouncing. He went back to the corkboard, where he stapled a pink sheet of parchment. "What are those?"

"Pamphlets for the reform," Terrence explained. "I've been stapling them all over."

Percy stepped forward to read one of them.

 _The Ministry will be taking a completely new approach to dealings with Muggleborns. Headed by Dolores Umbridge, the Muggle-born Registration Commission will help keep our magical community safe from attempts to seize and twist the gift which has been bestowed to every witch and wizard. We hope to rid the Ministry of thieves to create a clean population–_

"Weasley!" Yaxley barked. "Thicknesse wants you in his office."

"What for?" Percy asked.

"It's not good," Yaxley told him.

Percy scrambled to get to the Head's office, leaving Yaxley looking smug.

When he tentatively entered the spacious office, Thicknesse was sitting at his desk, staring out the window. Percy closed the door and the sound made Thicknesse whirl around.

"Weasley, there you are." He gestiured for Percy to sit. He did, and looked at Thicknesse to find the man staring through his eyes.

Percy coughed and prompted, "Sir?"

"I'm afraid this meeting is under rather unfortunate circumstances, but what needs to be said must be said…" He lapsed into another silence.

"Sir?" Percy asked again.

"Yes, Weasley, well, there's no careful way to put it. You father is under surveillance. We have one of our trusted Aurors tailing him, as he's been associated with causes that the reform rather condemns."

Percy stiffened. Once again, his family was putting their trust in the wrong people and jeopardizing his position.

"You know of our reform, I trust?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good."

"A-am I being fired, sir?"

"Fired? No, Weasley. You've shown continuous dedication to the Ministry and our practices. I wanted to impress upon you the importance of not interfering with any consequences that may come to your father as the result of his actions; I wouldn't do anything unless absolutely necessary to enforce the law. You understand?"

"Of course, sir. I apologize for any trouble my father might have caused you. I ask that you don't let any of his actions permeate your perception of me."

"Of course not, my boy. But this puts you in a dangerous position: If you do anything suspicious, the Aurors are more likely to mark you as suspect because of your father's history. I'm sure you wouldn't do anything suspicious, of course, but the warning remains." He settled back into his chair and stared into space again.

Thicknesse said suddenly, "Pity about Potter."

"What about Potter, sir?"

"The Head of the Auror Department told me a squad was sent to take Potter in for questioning – can't have him spreading things about the reform to cause discord, you know – but he slipped through their fingers. I know that if we could just take him in, we'd get him in the end."

Thicknesse focused his eyes on a painting of a meadow to the left of his desk and remained quiet. When Percy was sure he had nothing more to say, he the left the room as quickly as possible.

There was something that bothered him about what Thicknesse told him about Potter. Why would a whole squad of Aurors be sent to bring in Potter when all their efforts should have been concentrated on He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? Wasn't the latter a bigger threat?

But Thicknesse had also mentioned him as a threat to the reform. Potter certainly had the fame to gather followers to rebel against the Ministry. The Ministry had been nothing but stable and solid throughout Percy's life; Thicknesse was giving him an excellent job– there was no reason to doubt him. However, Percy did wish his family would realize the dangers of associating with Potter; if a squad of Aurors had been sent after him, and a price was on Potter's head, they were in danger not from Potter himself, but from the Ministry as well.

No matter– Percy had no business worrying what his boss was doing to apprehend a teenager. When he got back to his cubicle, he saw a memo saying _Duplicate 50 copies of this pamphlet and deliver it to Dolores Umbridge's office._ Percy put the search for Potter out of his mind and began duplicating.

* * *

The next week, when Percy walked into the DMLE, Yaxley announced to everyone, pointing to a large banner reading _Congratulations, the Muggleborn Registration Commission!_ "They're up all over the building. Umbridge will be down sometime today; I expect you all here to greet her."

People muttered in agreement as they filed into their cubicles. Percy wondered why Thicknesse wasn't addressing the department, but his mind was focused on other things. Yesterday was Bill's wedding. He'd gotten the invitation some weeks ago, but ignored it. He remembered that his eldest brother was marrying the Beauxbatons Triwizard champion. With a slightly heavy heart, Percy went back to work on his latest report.

He'd just finished the report when a memo flew in, stuck to the morning's Prophet. He took one look at the front page and gasped: Pius Thicknesse Declared Minister for Magic Yesterday Night.

Percy flipped open the paper to page 2, where the article continued. He was unsurprised to find that nothing of real substance was there, except for one line: Oddly enough, Thicknesse's predecessor, Rufus Scrimgeour, is nowhere to be found. Aurors are investigating his whereabouts at the moment.

Percy flipped the page to find a piece on the new Commission by Rita Skeeter:

 _"The Ministry's new reform – focused on eradicating the inclusion of Muggles and Muggle-borns common among much of wizarding Britain since He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's downfall on October 31, 1981 – seems to be solidifying itself beyond mere propaganda meant to challenge the majority belief. 'The Muggle-born Registration Commission (MRC),' Commission Head Dolores Umbridge assures, 'is focused on direct action to document those worthy of possessing magic and to exterminate any persons who have taken it by force. The Commission will also have a side project on the incarceration of dangerous half-breeds.' 'Half-breeds', many of whom possess magic, have been deemed 'deadly' and/or 'threatening' by Ministry officials and the MRC warns people not to approach these creatures if confronted._

 _"Recent research undertaken by the Department of Mysteries reveals that magic can only be passed from person to person when wizards reproduce. Where no proven wizarding ancestry exists, therefore, the so-called Muggle-born is likely to have obtained magical power by theft or force. The Ministry is determined to root out such usurpers of magical power, and to this end has issued an invitation to every so-called Muggle-born to present themselves for interview by the newly appointed Muggle-born Registration Commission._

 _"Many self-proclaimed Muggle-borns are skeptical of this new Commission, signed into effect by Minister of Magic Pius Thicknesse just last night. They fear that they and their family and friends may be targeted by the MRC. This very morning, the Commission has begun their search to bring all self-proclaimed Muggle-borns into the Ministry for questioning by the Wizengamot._

 _"' You have nothing to fear if you have nothing to hide,' Thicknesse says._

 _"Supporters of the legislation promise it will be a big success, while critics' attitudes range from skeptical to scared. This reporter cannot wait to see how the new legislation impacts the wizarding community._

 _– Rita Skeeter, Daily Prophet."_

Percy stared, his brow furrowed. He found many moral problems with the article – and he had thought Thicknesse was good man! – but his eye was drawn to the second paragraph. _"magic can only be passed from person to person when wizards reproduce"_ , it stated, yet just after, it stated, _" the so-called Muggle-born is likely to have obtained magical power by theft or force"_. The two directly contradicted each other. If magic could only be given to someone through magical reproduction, then how would Muggle-borns be stealing magic?

"Mr. Yaxley?"

The annoyed blond appeared in the cubicle.. "Yes, Weasley, are you done with that report yet?"

"Oh, yes, here," he said, handing it over. Percy spotted a pin on Yaxley's robes reading Department Head. "You're Department Head!"

"Yes, with Thicknesse moving up," the man said, sneering.

"Congratulations, sir," Percy said. "Now, I had a question about the reform."

"Yes?"

Percy pointed out the error in the Prophet article. "I don't see how that could be –"

"The MRC knows what it's doing, Weasley," Yaxley bit out. "I hope you're not challenging the reform– what with your father's reputation, I know you can't _afford_ it."

Percy felt his ears go red. "No, sir, of course not. I'll just work on the pamphlets–"

"Oh no, you won't need those," Yaxley said, laughter in his voice. "Try your hand on these. And get me a coffee while you're at it." He threw a ream of green flyers onto Percy's desk and walked away. Percy jumped up, grabbing the stack and heading to the lift. As he stepped into the lift, he began to read the flyers:

 _The Muggle-born Registration Commission has been signed into action!_

 _If you see or know of a person who claims to be 'Muggle-born', report them to the MRC immediately!_

 _Together, we can cleanse our community!_

On the top there was a horrible drawing of a wild-haired person with crooked teeth, maddened eyes, and ragged clothes carrying a wand, with a red circle with a slash through it drawn over. It was evidently supposed to be a Muggle-born "stealing" magic.

Percy felt nausea rise in him. The MRC didn't look like good news at all; this could be propaganda for You-Know-Who himself.

Percy was just about to step on line when a voice called, "Percy!"

He turned to find Rupert running at him, out of breath. "Have you seen this?" he gasped, waving the morning's Prophet. Percy nodded.

"It's barbaric!"

"I know; keep your voice down," Percy hissed.

"No one seems to have a problem with it!"

"Well, they wouldn't," Percy said, coming to a realization. "I bet any Muggle-borns taken in for 'questioning' will be in Azkaban, and Umbridge is probably willing to throw anyone who opposes her in as well."

Rupert's eyes were round as Galleons. "You're right… the Ministry's gone to hell. I thought Thicknesse was alright."

"So did I," Percy mused, stepping into line.

"Now he's Minister… You know they say it's because Scrimgeour was killed?"

"What?"

"I had tea with my Aunty Rita. In today's paper she was going to write a whole piece about the Death Eaters that attacked him, interrogating him for intel on Harry Potter–"

" _Death Eaters?_ "

"Yeah, but they didn't let her print it. Thicknesse has her on a tight leash. I can't believe no one else is upset…"

Rupert scampered off and Percy found that he was quite right. Everyone in the Ministry was going on with their routine– no one seemed perturbed by the fact that at this very moment, Muggle-borns could be fighting as they were torn away from their families, their lives…

Percy tried to put it out of his mind as he ordered, but he was unsuccessful. Another realization nagged at the back of his mind..

His order was announced, and Percy took the cup and walked back across the Atrium, preoccupied. His thoughts were only interrupted when a scream rent the air.

Many head whirled towards the sound, and for a minute, no source was apparent. Then, five people toppled out of one of the fireplaces on the right. Two wore maroon robes with MRC embroidered on their chests. The other three were one thrashing man and two children. The MRCs pushed the three towards a sobbing woman.

"Not the children!" she cried as they were shunted forward. "Spare them!" The maroon-clad wizards ignored her.

"I'm a wizard, I swear!" the man bellowed, failing to free himself from the iron grip imprisoning him. "My great-great-great grandfather was a Squib!"

An aisle cleared to make way for the Muggle-borns and MRCs, the Ministry workers staring in horror. They stared, transfixed, as the MRCs dragged the people to the lifts. In a last attempt, the man raked his nails along one of the MRC's left arms. The man's arm convulsed and he dropped the Muggle-born. The man ran for it, but without his wand, he was powerless, and the other MRC stunned him before dragging him into the lift after the other three.

The MRC who'd dropped the man was the last one into the lift, and Percy couldn't help but stare at his left arm. A scrape like that shouldn't have phased him, but he'd actually let go.

The man was a Death Eater.

The realization Percy's brain had been working on at the coffee counter finally clunked into place.

The new reform was not some Ministry legislation. It was _Death Eater_ take-over.

Percy shook his head as his feet carried him to the lifts. He'd been so stupid. The flyers, the MRC, these imprisonments, the new attitude, the entire reform: it was all linked back to Death Eaters and their ideals coming back into power.

Voldemort had a greater hold on the Ministry than Percy'd ever thought. He was planning to take over the Ministry and use its might to capture Harry Potter and turn wizarding society against Muggles and Muggle-borns.

 _The Ministry is no longer safe,_ Percy realized. _Voldemort's influence is too great. The only resistance left is… the Order._

Percy sighed to himself. He had to escape the Ministry and join the Order. He could worry about facing his family later. The real problem was how to get out of the Ministry itself…


	48. Former Enemies

**A/N: Written for Round 10 of the Houses Competition forum as a themed story for Slytherin House. Underlined text taken directly from Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone.**

 **Prompt: 9. [Pairing type] Former Enemies**

 **Word count: 3,371**

 **Harry's POV**

They'd started out as enemies. Well, rivals would be a more accurate term. Harry's real enemy had been Lord Voldemort, though he hadn't quite grasped that fully at the age of eleven. In his defense, he was told by the first person he could remember had been nice to him that all Slytherins were evil. Well, that wasn't what Hagrid really told him — he said that "there wasn't a witch or wizard who went bad that wasn't in Slytherin"— but…

Ok, so maybe Harry had been a bit of an ass. But they'd turned out alright in the end.

He could remember his very first day of Hogwarts with clarity. For the first time in his life, he had a friend, someone untouched by Dudley's influence who would have his back. Then the blond boy had showed up in his compartment, sneering his practiced sneer at the very first person who'd ever been nice to Harry. But Draco had also offered something: his friendship. And Harry, quite readily believing every word that came out of Ron's mouth, declined. To use Draco's wording, he was convinced, because Draco was so keen on being Slytherin, that he was "the wrong sort". Now that Harry knew Draco better, he was not surprised that after getting over being rejected, Draco had decided to hate Harry with a passion. Though Draco didn't admit it, Harry knew there had definitely been hate between them.

As if Fate had decided to go along with the newly formed animosity, it placed them in the two rival Houses: Harry in Gryffindor and Draco in Slytherin. As Harry met yet more people who affirmed his initial impression that Slytherins were "bad", he came to look out for the green. Slytherin House's color became a warning symbol, especially when it was on the badge sewn to Draco Malfoy's robes. Professor Snape's favoritism and the snide comments about the Weasleys' financial issues, Hermione's blood status, and Harry's own parents taught Harry that Slytherin green could only signal the arrival of unpleasantness. A flash of green put Harry in a defensive stance his hand on his wand, and when the green belonged to Draco Malfoy (which was most of the time), it put a snarl on his face. Green signified anger and danger. So, Slytherin House was further solidified in Harry's mind as the "bad" House, and he stayed as far as possible from the green.

* * *

Draco's POV

Draco had awaited Hogwarts his entire childhood – mainly, he'd awaited introducing himself to Harry Potter his entire childhood. Whenever Draco mentioned him, his parents would prattle on about how the child celebrity had killed their Lord, destroying their chance of building a "better world". Well, Draco only thought it would be a better world for Purebloods like himself, but his mother told him that as long as he was happy, nothing else mattered in the world.

Nevertheless, as Draco discovered what it was like when his parents' Lord was in reign and how Harry Potter had obliterated him, Draco couldn't help but think that Harry Potter seemed like someone he'd very much like to meet. He'd also been cautioned against speaking less than respectfully about the boy hero, to "not draw unwanted attention", so Draco, ever the Slytherin, took advantage of this to ask whatever questions he could about Harry Potter.

Needless to say, Draco was dead set on making Harry Potter a friend of his when he was eleven. So, doing exactly as his father had taught him, he walked right up to the boy, made eye contact, introduced himself with his proper title ("It never hurts to impress, Draco," his father repeatedly told him), held out his hand, and smiled. But as Draco looked into the piercing green eyes, they were already narrowed in malice. It was then that Draco realized that Weasley was in the compartment. He mentally groaned. Of course Weasley had told Potter all about how horrible Draco supposedly was. But if Potter knew how much of a mistake he was making when he made friends with Weasley, he'd want to be friends with Draco, he convinced himself.

No need to ask who you are," he sneered at Weasley, "My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford. You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."

Draco was so taken aback by the boy's response, he'd retaliated in the only way he knew how: malice. Of course, this only succeeded in receiving malice back. But Draco had never had anyone dislike him before, especially someone he rather wanted to like him.

Their confrontation left Draco confused and stung. He decided that Potter was not worth his time. How could anyone who consorts with Weasleys be someone he wanted to be around?

Over the years, the facade grew into a feeling that was somewhat real. But instead of mere malice, Draco found that he was genuinely jealous. Potter was not as rich as he, nor did he have parents, but he had friends who could hold an intelligent conversation, and more than that, friends who actually cared. Crabbe and Goyle didn't count, in his opinion; they only knew each other because of their parents' history. Potter also had friends in his fame; even the teachers worshipped him as the hero who'd freed them all from the Dark Lord. Draco had never been ignored before, and it seemed that at Hogwarts, Potter got all the attention. No one paid attention to the bitter blond; even the few Slytherins that agreed with him paid him no mind– perhaps they were more prudent about withholding views that went against the public's. Draco found himself green with envy.

He buried himself in layers of that envy and reflected it as hate. When Potter joined the Quidditch team with the best broomstick, Draco showed up the next year with even better broomsticks for his entire team. When Potter was nervous about a Quidditch match, Draco was there to make sure he unsettled the Seeker as much as possible. When Slytherin's monster was supposedly on the loose, Draco acted gleeful that Potter's Muggle-born friend had a chance to die. When Potter fell fifty feet from the air due to dementors, Draco made sure to taunt him as much as possible and even dressed up as a dementor himself. When Potter's best friend got appointed teacher, Draco made sure he was there to tear the half-giant down and milk the injury he sustained for all it was worth to get him sacked. When a mass murderer was at large to kill Potter, Draco made sure to drop hints to get Potter angry (even though Draco was just an ounce scared for Potter's life).

A small part of Draco still wished to be friends with the boy, still held out hope that they could make amends. But Draco's attitude and big mouth taught Potter to hate Draco as well. Draco would, occasionally, try to catch Potter's eye when he was happy, but if they ever made eye contact, the emerald orbs immediately contracted in loathing.

Draco became quickly obsessed with those eyes. Just once, he'd like to see them looking at him kindly, or at least not hatefully. Of course, it would help if he didn't spew prejudiced things at his friends and give them death threats. Draco found himself staring at the eyes more often than not. The green had many layers to it, he found. They overlapped to create intriguing Slytherin-green irises. Watching Potter, Draco saw the eyes in laughter, in sadness, in sympathy, in worry, and in concentration, but he most saw them in anger. And the wound inflicted on the first train ride to Hogwarts festered.

So during his first three years at Hogwarts, Draco buried the pain of his failure to become friends with Potter deep under a mask of enmity. He was determined to retaliate to Potter's hatred in full force. This did not, of course, bring Draco any closer to his original goal, but he found that he almost didn't care about that goal anymore. He truly convinced himself that he despised Harry Potter.

Fourth year arrived. Draco had awaited the Triwizard Tournament all summer, and was looking forward to a good long year of enjoying the events. But then Potter got picked. Draco couldn't see how, but he went along with the rest of the school in sneering at the boy for supposedly entering illegally. Much to Draco's glee, Weasley also believed that Potter had submitted his name into the Goblet of Fire for fame (that little part of Draco hoped Potter would realize how horrible a friend Weasley was and, by some weird logic, come to Draco).

Draco had a hard time finding humor in the Triwizard Tournament after the first task. Seeing Potter threatened by a Hungarian Horntail and having to fly for his life woke something Draco didn't know was there. He realized that he wouldn't… be entirely happy to see Potter die. Draco knew that he felt much more scared for Potter than that, but he refused to acknowledge it. The depth of his fear (his feelings, his brain sneered nastily at him) frightened Draco, and he countered predictably: by displaying hatred. He made badges to flash Potter Stinks, made jokes about how long Potter would last in the next task, reported nasty things about Hagrid and Potter himself to Rita Skeeter, and steadily ignored his feelings.

Then the second task arrived. Draco found himself on the edge of his seat worrying whether Potter had drowned, and then saw him dragging Weasley and a silvery-blonde girl up out of the water. The latter, based on the resemblance, was surely a relative of the Beauxbatons champion, but Draco didn't care about her. The person Potter would miss most was Weasley?! Really? Draco could feel the twinge of envy coming back. He found himself wondering, if things had gone differently, whether he would have been in the lake instead of Weasley…

The third task was just plain scary. Potter returned with Diggory's body clutched in his arms, sobbing and raving about how the Dark Lord had returned. Dumbledore seemed to believe him, unsettling Draco further. In the following days, as most of the rest of the school dismissed Potter's story as fantasy, Draco found it easier to go along. Of course it wasn't true… Potter had put his name in the Goblet for attention in the first place, people reasoned. On the last day of school, Draco found himself once again jeering at Potter, asking is the boy needed a hanky.

But when Draco returned home to see his mother and father strained and distant, wearing long sleeves in the summer, he knew something was wrong. Potter had told the truth.

* * *

 **Harry's POV**

The end of the third task marked a significant shift in Harry's life. In his previous years at Hogwarts, he'd been mildly concerned with some evil or another, while still being happy with his friends and mainly stressed about homework. Now the thought of Voldemort consumed his every waking hour– and many of the hours he spent asleep.

Harry visited the graveyard often in his dreams. He doubted the green glow of the killing curse and Cedric's white, stiff body would ever be unstuck from the backs of his eyelids. In his third year, he'd had visions of his parents' deaths; the killing curse had been used by Voldemort three times that night, but only twice successfully.

His entire life path, it seemed, was ruled by that green jet of light. The Avada Kedavra had killed both his parents, sending him to the Dursleys; it had given him the scar for which he was so famous; it had killed Cedric before his eyes.

Harry's mind and world were now desolate places of trauma, death and destruction. With O.W.L.s, Umbridge, visions and dreams, Occlumency, no Quidditch, and the attitudes of those believed the Daily Prophet, Harry was completely surrounded by misery. If not for the D.A., Harry did not know how he would have gone on. The Slytherins grew ever more vicious, and the power the members of the Inquisitorial Squad, including Draco Malfoy, had, combined with the dreams of the Avada Kedavra, had Harry avoiding green at all costs. Green curses and the people with the green on their robes could now make his life hell. Green symbolized the decimation of his life.

And then Sirius died. Harry had been inexcusably stupid to not see the trap Voldemort had lured him into– once again, Hermione had been right all along.

Harry saw his godfather fall into the veil countless times. He knew he had no one who cared for him that summer; no adult to call a kind of parent. But Hogwarts was much better than it had been during his fifth year, and the joy that Quidditch and the absence of Umbridge fueled greatly lifted his spirits. More than that, everyone had to acknowledge that Voldemort was back, and Harry could feel the growing support filling him with a warmth. Dumbledore was finally acknowledging him, and Malfoy… was oddly silent.

Harry would have thought that Malfoy's loss of the power the Inquisitorial Squad gave him would make him even more vengeful, but Malfoy was barely even there. He resigned from Quidditch and Harry barely even saw him during classes. He only came out for one meal a day. Harry found the whole thing very odd, and then there was the possibility he was a Death Eater. Harry found his hand straying to the Marauders' Map when he was bored, itching to figure out where Malfoy was all this time. He stared at it for long periods of time during breaks, during meals, and before bed, but he was never able to figure out the enigma.

But then Harry found Malfoy in a bathroom, sobbing his heart out to Moaning Myrtle of all people about how he was going to be killed if he didn't carry out the mission. And Harry felt a twinge of something he'd never felt for Malfoy before– but then Malfoy was throwing hexes and curses at him with venom that showed how much he needed to vent. Harry wanted to talk reason, but the blond was starting to throw an Unforgivable, and Harry's brain acted of his own accord.

The next second, Malfoy was lying on the floor, bleeding out because of what Harry had done, and Harry, despite his panic, identified the foreign emotion he'd experience when he first saw Malfoy in the mirror.

Sympathy.

* * *

 **Draco's POV**

Draco thought the day he regretted most in his life – and he had many days to choose from – was the day he took the Dark Mark.

Even in his adulthood, he still occasionally found himself frowning at the ugly brand on his forearm or picking at it, as if it was a temporary tattoo that could be peeled away.

He could not forgive his father for giving his son to the Dark Lord to repent for his own failures, but Draco had played his part in truly desperate times. As Voldemort accumulated power over Draco's fifth, sixth, and seventh years at Hogwarts, circumstances had grown ever more dire for his family. There was more expected of his father and mother, and as Draco neared adulthood, there was mounting pressure for him to take the Mark and become an official Death Eater. After his father's blunder during Draco's sixth year, it was either his father's life or Draco's happiness that had to go, and there was no question in the family as to which would be sacrificed. The Dark Lord made many attempts on Harry's life that made Draco highly uncomfortable, none of them successful, and Draco could feel him getting frustrated. Naturally, Voldemort took his anger out on his followers.

The amount of times Draco had seen the killing curse used was much, much too many. He'd even had to use it himself a few times; just thinking about that made him green with nausea. It was poisoning him slowly, like green venom coursing through his veins, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

There was one shade of green he wouldn't have minded seeing: Potter's eyes– or rather, Potter himself. The irises, the exact hue of a killing curse, were not the same color as the deadly Unforgivable. There was warmth in Potter's gaze, whereas an Avada Kedavra gave off a sickly, toxic glare. Draco felt that if he could just get a glimpse of Potter, to know that he was alive, still standing, still fighting, with his own two eyes, he would be able to make it through Voldemort's reign.

And then his wish had been granted. Not in ideal circumstances, of course, but Potter had been brought to him. Greyback brought him, Weasley and Granger to the Manor over Easter Holidays. Potter's face was terribly banged up– it looked like swelling hexes. But through the ridiculous puffiness, as Draco was brought forth to identify the Boy-Who-Lived, their eyes met.

Draco instantly knew that this was the real Harry Potter. But he was stunned by the pleading in them– but he was even more surprised at the sympathy there. Potter had no reason to be sympathetic now– Draco had only to confirm what he already knew and they'd be toast. But, he realized inexplicably, his childhood wish had been fulfilled. Potter had actually looked at him with something other than loathing. Draco found something soften in him; he remembered the panicked boy who'd stood over his bleeding body on the floor of a watery bathroom floor, overcome with remorse for the life he could take. And he shook his head.

"I'm really not sure," he announced, stepping back. He could see Potter's chest deflate, as if he was letting out a huge breath he'd been holding.

The net few minutes were full of tortured screams from Granger, yells from Weasley, broken glass, curses, his wand being ripped out of his hand, the flick of a knife being thrown across a room, and the pop of three people and one House Elf disapparating away into safety.

As his Aunt Bella raged and his mother fainted dead away, Draco couldn't help but stare wistfully into the distance, hoping he'd made the right choice.

* * *

 **August, 2017**

Draco ran his hand tiredly through his hair, which was slightly more silver than it had been in his youth. Scorpius played in front of him in the meadow, chasing butterflies and things. Draco glanced over the hill behind him again. Harry was late…

Just as he thought it, the man appeared over the crest, with three loud, rambunctious children in his wake.

"Scorp!" the smaller boy, Albus, cried, and he ran down the hill to join his friend. James led Lily after her brother, the small red-headed waving at Draco as she passed.

"How are you doing?' harry asked, spreading his picnic blanket down beside Draco's.

"Well enough. You?"

"I'm good. Another one going off to school in just a week."

"This'll be my first time."

"You might cry," Harry warned playfully.

"Shut up, Potter," Draco laughed.

"I'm serious! I did when James went."

"Really?"

"Yup." Harry didn't look the least bit ashamed.

Draco hummed and stared around the meadow. The sky was a clear, vivid azure, and a pleasant warm breeze blew across the field, the last of the summer weather passing through. The grass was tall and healthy here, and the dew glittered in the sun. The green blades created a satisfying picture against the blue sky, and Draco absentmindedly ripped at the grass.

This green was soothing and spoke of life. Draco looked at his son, who was now helping Lily braid a flower crown. He and Harry had finally reached an understanding after the war, and he was glad they were able to sit and have a picnic with their children, at peace with the world in fields of green.


	49. Betrayal

**A/N: Written for the Houses Competition forum for Slytherin House as a drabble.**

 **Prompt: "I didn't mean to date your ex. It just happened."**

 **Word count: 417**

Hermione came back home with a smile on her face for the first time in… well, months, she supposed. Then she saw her boyfriend standing with a sweater clutched in his fist, shaking with anger and hurt, and the joy slid off her face.

She let Ron speak first. It took a few tries, but he managed to croak, "Lavender Brown came by today."

"Oh?" Hermione asked in a horribly false, high, cheery voice.

"She said you left this–" He held up the sweater jerkily "– at her place."

"Really?"

"I was confused; why would my girlfriend have left a sweater at my ex's house? Lavender was confused as well. Why did I think that you were my girlfriend, she asked. She said you were her girlfriend. Are you two–" He made a vague gesture.

"Ron, it's not–"

"'Not what I think'?" he asked mockingly, his volume rising. "What, Hermione? Can my miniscule brain not comprehend that you've been cheating on me? You thought you could get away with it? Because you're so perfect and I'm too dim to figure it out?"

"No, Ron, that's not–"

"I've never been good enough for you, have I?"

"No, what are you talking about?!" Hermione felt her face burning, her lip trembling.

"I know exactly what I'm talking about. No, you don't get to cry about this! I'm the one who should be upset!" He shook his head. "And for it to be Lavender? Did that mean anything to you? I thought we'd put that teenage stupidity behind us!"

"I didn't mean to date your ex. It just happened."

"Oh, that's rich! It 'just happened', you had no part in it, sure! Stop avoiding taking responsibility. _You_ screwed up!" Ron shook his head again. When he spoke again, his voice was very low. "We're done."

"Ron–"

"Oh, Lavender left a few things for you." He threw a cone of cellophane with long, burnt flowers in it at her feet. "It was a bouquet, but she lit it on fire." Ron glared at Hermione with savage pleasure and threw her sweater at her. She caught it, shocked.

Hermione's eyes filled with tears and her chest constricted as she stared at the bouquet on the floor. "Ron, I–"

"Don't talk to me. Just leave."

Hermione, recognizing defeat and feeling extremely ashamed, walked out the door and felt it slam behind her so hard the walls shook. Resigning herself to sleeping in her office at the Ministry, Hermione finally let the tears fall as she apparated away.


	50. Drawing Remus

**A/N: Written for Round 1 of Year 3 of the Houses Competition as a short story for Slytherin House. Vampire!Remus AU.**

 **Position: Standing in this round for Year 3**

 **Prompt: 5. [Date] 18th February**

 **Word Count: 2,027**

Remus groaned, grabbing another pillow from his seemingly endless stash, he squeezed it harder over his ears. The noise coming from the common room was deafening, even though this year, his and the Marauders' dorm was at the top of the tower and he had the door closed and drawn his bed curtains. He loved his friends, he really did, but their parties were always too loud. And now he was cooped up in his room ( _again_ ) when he'd been unable to go outside since last month. Since when did Mother Nature decide to make February sunny?

Suddenly, the door to the room swung open. Remus growled and bit his lip hard. The taste of salt and iron flooded his mouth and he sucked on his bleeding lip, letting the blood comfort him. Then his curtains were pulled back sharply. Remus flinched away from the sudden light as a weight flopped unceremoniously next to him on the bed. A sharp chin dug into his shoulder and Remus identified the intruder at once.

"Sirius," he groaned. "I'm trying not to die."

"Have you forgotten that you physically cannot die?"

"You know what I mean," Remus grumbled.

"Unless… maybe… if you got a splinter... " Sirius mused.

It took Remus' brain a minute to realize that Sirius was still contemplating the very few instances in which Remus could be wounded or killed. "Ha ha. I suppose some alcohol has finally addled your brain. Did Aberforth finally break out the gillywater?" he mocked.

"I am _not_ a lightweight!" Sirius protested.

Remus only winced (Sirius had shouted in his ear) because, as much as he and the other Marauders would insist otherwise, Sirius could drink the most out of all of them – and hold his liquor too. Despite all the parties they'd had – and Remus had seen the drinking games they played (including the ones Sirius invented himself while both sober and drunk) – neither Remus nor Peter nor James had ever seen Sirius with a hangover. Surprisingly, Peter was the one who could hold his liquor second best to Sirius, with James third and Remus fourth.

"Why don't you come downstairs and play a game with us?" Sirius whined, standing and attempting (and failing) to pull Remus by the hand. "People sad from Valentine's Day are still looking for a good snog. You should go. It'll be fun."

"You know I can't do that. I already have a headache and I've been here this whole time."

"That sucks." Sirius gave up and flopped back next to Remus on the bed, lying on his back.

Remus snorted, then regretted it. "Tell me about it."

His inability to drink, much less be in an extremely loud, smelly, and cramped room for a prolonged period of time, was due to the fact that Remus was a vampire. This caused increased sensitivity to light, noise, and smells. Alcohol was also extremely poisonous to vampires, as it tampered with the blood they needed to sustain themselves, so Remus had never been able to indulge during one of his friends' infamous parties. In fact, he usually spent the celebrations locked in their dorm room either reading, trying to sleep, or resisting the urge to go kill something when he got really irritated.

The impromptu parties the other three Marauders liked to host, like the one right now, were somehow the biggest parties they threw. They would be held for the most trivial of reasons: For example, on today, February 18th, the party was being held "because it was the last even teens day in February", according to Sirius. This one was especially large, as it was the Marauders' seventh and last year at Hogwarts, and March would mark the start of the only period of time Remus had ever gotten his friends to legitimately study. Thus, Sirius had required numerous celebrations towards the end of February to mark the end of "their last enjoyable times in school". No doubt everyone was downstairs drinking, talking, eating, laughing, and playing games, Remus thought sourly. But he dragged himself out of such thoughts; he was always determined not to let the side-effects of his… condition get him down.

"Yeah, you can't go in the sun, go to parties, drink, use a camera, use mirrors…" Sirius continued, pulling Remus out of his thoughts. He was ticking off the items on his fingers as he went. A slow smirk spread across his face. "... or woodwork, I suppose."

"Gee, thanks for listing it all out for me like that," Remus commented, but he was smiling too.

Sirius chuckled sheepishly. He glanced over at his friend. "No book today?" Remus made a noncommittal noise. "That bad, huh?" Another grunt. Sirius hummed sympathetically and fell quiet, knowing that it was best to get Remus to try to sleep.

The boys lay in silence. Laughter and a shriek of delight reached their ears from the common room. Soon, music began and people started whooping cheering as, presumably, dancers stepped up to show off. Remus had no reaction but to roll over.

"Hey, Rem?" Sirius asked softly.

"What?"

"Do you know what you look like?"

Remus's head emerged from under the pillow. "What do you mean?"

"Do you, like, actually know what you look like?"

"You guys have described my face to me. My mum as well."

"Nooo," Sirius insisted, "I mean, like, since you can't see yourself in mirrors or pictures, have you ever actually seen yourself?"

Remus opened his mouth and then closed it, looking perturbed. "No," he answered finally. "I don't know what I look like."

"That's… weird," Sirius said, somewhat breaking the serious atmosphere.

"Yeah, I suppose," Remus said softly.

Remus stared at the bottom of his bed's red canopy in contemplation. His face had been described to him – he had light brown, wavy hair; he was very pale; his face was pointed, "almost gaunt" a friend had once told him; his eyes were dark amber; his lips were thin and red; his forehead had wrinkles in it; he had dark shadows under his eyes – but if he tried to put the features together, he had no idea what his face would look like.

"Would you like to?" Sirius's voice brought him out of his musings.

"What?"

"Would you like to know what you look like?" Sirius repeated.

Remus considered. "I mean, sure, but that's impossible."

"I could draw you," Sirius suggested softly.

Remus's eyes widened. How had he never thought of this before? "I'm not sure if you're smarter when you're sober or drunk," he joked.

"Do you want me to draw you?" Sirius asked, undeterred in his efforts.

"Um, like, now?" Remus asked.

"Sure." Sirius rose from the bed, stretched, and crossed over to his desk, where everything was immaculate only because he organized it at the beginning of the year and then never touched it until June. Grabbing a Muggle sketchpad and pencil, Sirius went back to Remus's bed, where the other boy had now also sat up against the headboard, finally ignoring the noise coming from downstairs.

"Okay, get comfortable," Sirius commanded, situating himself across from his friend and resting the pad against his own crossed legs. "Now stay completely still."

Remus stared at the space between Sirius's face and the sketchpad and amused himself with watching the page. After only a minute, Sirius huffed and erased the page vigorously. He then put his feet on the bed and bent his legs so he could rest the sketchpad against his thighs angled away from Remus. Remus huffed, but did not move, and began watching Sirius's face instead.

It was very amusing watching Sirius as he drew, Remus decided. The boy never seemed satisfied with what he put down and would erase a portion brutally every few minutes, sometimes redoing the same spot multiple times. When he really concentrated, the drunk boy would slightly poke his tongue out of his mouth and lean forward so that his nose almost touched the paper. His brows would furrow and there were periods when he would stare at Remus for so long it would make him nervous and shifty. But, knowing the dark-haired boy would be furious if his drawing was disrupted, Remus remained resolutely of stone. It also struck Remus at how much effort Sirius seemed to be putting into the drawing. Remus thought that he'd be receiving only a rough sketch of his features, but it appeared that Sirius was determined to make a perfect portrait.

Finally, after about an hour of intense work on Sirius's part, he scribbled something with a flourish and ripped the drawing off the sketchpad, handing it to Remus regally. "Finished," he proclaimed, looking immensely proud of himself.

Remus raised his eyebrows with interest and took his first glance at the finished product.

It took all his carefully cultivated self-restraint not to burst out laughing.

He'd never seen Sirius draw, so it had been impossible for him to know, but evidently, Sirius had the artistic skill of a toddler. A large circle in the center obviously represented the outline of Remus's face. A mass of scribbles adorning the top of the circle was most likely meant to represent Remus's hair. The rest of the facial features were considerably obscured by the poorly-erased previous attempts. After staring at the drawing for about ten minutes, Remus could discern two almond-shaped outlines with solid circles in them and dark half-moons under them for his tired eyes; two horizontal lines with twin thin triangles descending from the top one illustrating his mouth and fangs; an acute angle in the middle depicting his nose; and two sharply curved lines on either side of the main circle to represent his pointed ears.

When Remus finally looked up from the paper, he found Sirius looking at him anxiously. Remus then realized that his friend was genuinely hoping Remus liked it. "So?" Sirius asked expectantly.

"It's, er… really good. The details are…"

Sirius groaned, cutting him off. "I know it's horrible," he said miserably, slumping dramatically onto Remus's crossed legs. "As much as my mother tried to drill proper penmanship and artistic skill, I only ever picked up the former," he proclaimed mournfully.

"No, it's alright. The eyes are really–" Remus cut himself off, feeling the laugh bubble up into his voice, and tried to control himself, but his pause in speech only gave the laugh more room to try to force its way out. "– very detailed," Remus choked out, before he let his giggles overcome him.

Soon, Remus was cackling, his thrown back, as a sour but also trying-not-to-laugh Sirius pouted with his head in his friend's lap.

"I tried, you know," he grouched.

"I know," Remus gasped, looking at the paper and becoming once again unable to speak. Once he recovered, he managed to say, "but that makes it funnier."

Sirius sat up and glared in mock-hurt. He stuck out his tongue and tried to defend himself again in vain. "I'm also just a bit tipsy."

Remus recoiled at the smell of the other boy's breath. "Yeah, just a bit."

"Well, I'm glad that my artistic endeavours at least provide you with some humor, if they cannot be appreciated for the masterpieces they are," Sirius sniffed.

"But, in all seriousness," Remus said, becoming a bit more somber, "thank you for trying. Means a lot, even if I will never see what I actually look like."

"Sure," Sirius said, dropping his act of bemoaning his bruised ego. "Maybe one day, I'll become a great portrait drawer and you'll be able to see yourself."

Remus smiled at him affectionately, and the two boys sat in comfortable silence, reveling in their friendship.

That night, however, as Peter was snoring away, James could be heard retching in the bathroom, and Sirius and Remus were in their respective beds, Remus whispered, "Sirius?"

"Yeah?"

"If you're still thinking about mastering the art of portrait drawing, I'm just warning you, you might be better off hiring a professional."

The subsequent pillow thrown at Remus's bed was only placed between Remus's arms as he snuggled with it and was finally, finally, able to sleep.


	51. Thunder

**A/N: Written for Round 1 of Year 3 of the Houses Competition as a standard story for Slytherin House. The bolded parts are taken directly from JKR's _The Tales of Beedle the Bard._**

 **Position: Standing in for Year 3**

 **Prompt: 3. [Sound] Thunder**

 **Word count: 1,465**

Draco woke to a soft knock and a whispered, "Father?"

He sighed and blinked at the blurry form of his backlit ten year old. "Yes, son?"

"I can't sleep."

Draco slowly sat up and was startled by thunderclaps outside the window. "The storm?"

Scorpius worried his lip and nodded. "Thunder scares me." He walked forward and grabbed Draco's hand, pulling him towards the door. Draco relented and let himself be led to Scorpius's room, squinting at the bright lights.

"Get into bed and turn on your lamp," he said softly. Scorpius did as told. Draco flicked the switch by the door and the overhead light went out, leaving them in semi-darkness. He crossed to the bed, where Scorpius drew the covers to his chin. Draco sat on the edge of the bed.

"I know what'll help," he murmured.

Scorpius flinched as a loud crack sounded.

Draco rubbed his hand with his thumb. "They're just noises. Now, let me tell you a story."

"A story?"

"Yes: _The Tale of the Three Brothers_."

Scorpius groaned. "But I've heard that one a million times."

Draco suppressed a smirk at the sight of his son back to his usual snarky self. "This is not the usual tale you've heard."

"What do you mean?"

"This is a true story," Draco explained.

"Okay. I'm ready," Scorpius said expectantly.

Draco cleared his throat. " **There were once three** men **who were traveling** –"

"But it's _The Tale of Three_ Brothers, Dad. They're _brothers_ , not men."

"I said this version was unusual. Now, would you like to hear the story?"

"Yes, please," Scorpius said eagerly.

"Ok.

" **There were once three** men **who were traveling along a lonely road at twilight. In time,** they **reached a river. However,** they **were learned in the magical arts, and so they simply waved their wands and made a bridge appear across the treacherous water. They were halfway across it when they found their path blocked by a hooded figure.**

"The figure was Death. The three men all had been slighted by Death in one way: Death had neglected them. Each of the men had required aid at one point in their childhoods, but Death had refused to provide assistance. Thus, they all wished to embarrass Death and make him pay. **But Death was cunning.** He knew of the men's animosity towards him and **Death spoke to them. He pretended to congratulate the three upon their magic, and said that each had earned a prize for having been clever enough to evade him.**

"The oldest man, **a combative** person, wished to one day humiliate Death by defeating him. So, he **asked for a wand that must always win duels for its owner, a wand worthy of a wizard who had conquered Death! So Death crossed to an elder tree on the banks of the river, fashioned a wand from a branch that hung there, and gave it to the eldest** man.

" **The second** man, **who was** more cunning than the first, **decided that he wanted to humiliate Death further, and asked for the power to recall others from Death. So Death picked up a stone from the riverbank and gave it to the second man, and told him that the stone would have the power to bring back the dead.**

" **And then Death asked the third and youngest** man **what he would like. The youngest** man **was the humblest and the wisest of the** men **, and** also the most neglected and damaged by Death in his youth. **He did not trust Death. So he asked for something that would enable him to go forth from that place without being followed by Death. And Death, most unwillingly, handed over his own Cloak of Invisibility.**

" **Then Death stood aside and allowed the three to continue on their way and they did so, talking with wonder of the adventure they had had, and admiring Death's gifts. In due course the** men **separated, each for his own destination.**

"The first man travelled to another country and placed rumors of his power to gain followers. He had quarrels with Muggles, and with his followers and the Elder Wand, began to conquer any standing in his path. He gained even more supporters and formed an army. As he gained power, his destructive nature came to light. Still his followers stayed by his side, and he soon became a threat to the entire country. A small band of fighters tried to resist as the masses lived in fear, and for a time they succeeded, but the first man rose to power once more after fifteen years of peace, and it seemed he would never be stopped.

"The second man soon forgot about Death's gift during his education. During his schooling, he became enraptured with the first man's power, and also fell in love with a woman. But the girl was a Muggleborn, and the first man would dispose of the second if he continued to court her. Eventually, the second man chose his allegiance to the first man over his feelings for the woman. He fell deeper into the first man's dark ways– until the woman he had loved was brutally murdered by the first man.

"Enraged and brokenhearted, the second man turned to Death. Death agreed to help the second man work against the first to avenge the woman, but the second man's grief only grew, and by the time the first man killed him for his betrayal, he welcomed Death.

"Death had claimed one man for himself.

"The third man went on with his life, but he could not avoid the murderous first man, jealous of the third's gift. The first man snuck up on the third one night and fired a killing curse at the third man's forehead. But when Death came to collect the third man, he hid under the Cloak of Invisibility, and Death was forced to leave the third man in the land of the living. After this failure, Death searched for the third man for many years, but was unable to find him.

"Meanwhile, the third man saw the first man rise to power, and he knew the man had to be stopped. After a series of encounters in which neither succeeded in killing the other, the first man attacked the third's home. This enraged the third man so much that he entered a furious duel with the first. During this duel, the third man was once again able to evade Death, and the first man was killed by his own curse. The first man was finally delivered to Death.

"The third man continued to live his life peacefully, and lived to a ripe old age. When he was ready to surrender to Death, he passed his Cloak of Invisibility onto his son and taught him how to use it wisely. He then walked into Death's arms happily, having lived a fulfilling life.

"Thus, Death took each of the three men for his own."

Scorpius laid in shock. "But," he spluttered, "the story didn't change! Each man still died!"

Draco raised his eyebrow. "So it is in the original story as well. But, though they all die, doesn't the tale have a moral?"

"Yes, to be like the third brother in that to be wise and humble," Scorpius answered. "But you said this story was true."

The brow winged up again. "And it is."

"So how is there still a moral if they all died in real life?"

"Think of the moral the original provides. It teaches children to be wise and humble. The humble part comes from the gifts each man asked for. The first asked for something that would make him powerful, and therefore corrupted. The second wanted to cheat Death out of what was his, and it ultimately gave him false hope, causing a miserable life. But the third wanted no gain for himself but to die happily when he was ready. Thus, he requested the cloak to allow himself to live healthily and happily."

Scorpius considered this a minute and then nodded. "What about the wise part?"

"Well, the first two chose gifts that made them targets and they chose paths that got them ripped back into Death's grasp. The third man chose something that would provide him protection so that when he died, he was contented with how he led his life and happily walked into Death's arms, thus denying Death his revenge. Do you see?"

Scorpius thought for many minutes. "The third man died on his own terms, so that's why you should be wise and humble – so that your life is full and happy and you are contented with your fate."

"Smart boy," Draco whispered fondly. He planted kiss on Scorpius's forehead and rose from the bed. "Now go to sleep."

Scorpius did.


	52. The Compiled Files of Angry Rants

**A/N: Written for Round 2 of Year 3 of the Houses competition for Slytherin House.**

 **Position: Stand-in for Year 3**

 **Category: Standard**

 **Prompt: 9. [action] drinking**

 **Word count: 1099**

"' _... we are very sorry to inform you that we were unable to acquire a position for you here at The Daily Prophet as we have discovered some issues with your previous works and your credibility. Thank you for applying but there is no possibility of your employment._

 _Best Wishes,_

 _Edna Sinclair._

 _The Daily Prophet_ ,'" Rita finished reading aloud. She threw the offending letter onto the woman's desk.

"This is the letter I sent you to inform you of your elimination in the running for junior reporter," Sinclair said hesitantly. "I see no problem."

Rita leaned over the woman, steadying herself by placing her hands far apart on the desktop. "' _No problem_ '?" she repeated. "For starters, one phrase jumps out at me." Her voice dropped to a deadly whisper. "Namely, some issues with my credibility."

"I would have thought the issue was clear."

Rita's face grew red and she took a deep breath. "Enlighten me."

"You reported falsities and non-existent scandals regarding Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Ginevra Potter during the Second Wizarding War. Ms. Skeeter, I appreciate all the years of writing you've done for this paper over the years, but I cannot give you a position," Sinclair said, steepling her fingers and meeting Rita's furious eyes with her flat, unimpressed ones.

Rita remained in her dominating position, looking as though she'd been slapped. "I– at the time– what I reported–"

Sinclair sighed, seeing the woman was not going to leave without some sort of compromise. "How about this? If you can write an accurate, respectful report about Mr. Potter's career as an Auror, then we will consider rehiring you."

Rita's jaw clenched, but she nodded tightly, knowing that if she refused, hit-wizards were on standby to escort her out.

"Good," Sinclair chirped. Rita collected her things, still stewing, and walked to the door, her mind already working furiously on a plan.

"Oh, and Ms. Skeeter?" Sinclair called innocently.

Rita turned on her heel.

"Mr. Potter must consent to an interview of his own free volition."

Rita sneered. "And what happens to me if he doesn't?"

Sinclair shrugged and smiled. Rita's hand twitched towards her pocket, but Sinclair's hand strayed towards a button that would inform the security. With one final clench of her jaw, Rita spun and disappeared.

* * *

Rita crouched behind the plant, quietly pulling out her acid-green Quick Quotes Quill and pad of paper. She'd Disillusioned herself, of course, but one could never be too careful.

It had been simple to find where Potter and the Weasley girl were going to lunch. A few magical bugging charms she's picked up from some Auror contacts were all it took to plan how she'd get her information on Potter. She was also hoping to get some photos, too.

She was well aware that Potter had never even been informed of her intention to write about him, but she knew he'd never talk to her of his own free will, if his attitude towards her during the war was anything to go by. And if he complained to that cow Sinclair when he found out about her piece, well… she had contacts that could make those problems go away once she got the job.

At that moment, Potter entered the cafe with the Weasley girl. They were escorted to a table immediately and given menus. Rita rolled her eyes, waiting for the conversation to pick up. As the waiter started to walk away, Potter called, "Oh, could you get me a copy of this morning's Prophet, please?" Rita could have sworn his eyes flicked to her plant for a moment, but she didn't worry. She shifted herself into a more comfortable position and waited.

When the waiter returned with the requested paper, Potter rustled the pages loudly as he opened it. The Weasley girl looked at him in suspicion, but he smiled at her. Rita frowned as he took a drink from the water that had been set down moments before. "Oh, it seems we're getting a divorce," he announced.

As gasps and murmurs erupted throughout the cafe, the Weasley girl spat out her tea, her eyes bright in what looked like… amusement?

The brightness dimmed slightly in her eyes, and she sighed a bit loudly. "Is it because I'm snogging Neville?" she asked resignedly.

Potter raised his eyebrows. "No, it's because _I'm_ snogging Neville."

Rita's face flushed as Ginny brought her teacup onto its saucer forcefully. "Goddamnit, Harry, let me have my affair in peace, would you?"

How did they find out? That's my personal property! Rita was thinking, but she was drawn out of her furious revenge plots when Potter said just loudly enough for her to hear, "You can come out now, Rita."

Fuming, she unfolded herself from behind the plant and strode over, keeping herself Disillusioned. This situation was humiliating enough. As she marched over to Potter and Weasley, she saw them having a good laugh, ignoring the odd looks they were receiving.

"What's so funny?" she ground out, leaning in the middle of them.

Potter leaned forward as well, as if he was about to whisper something to his wife. "Just glad you've found a more constructive way to deal with your anger, that's all."

Rita snorted like a bull. "How did you find my journal?"

"Oh, you mean, _The Compiled Files of Angry Rants_?" Potter asked innocently.

"The title is irrelevant," Rita hissed. "How did you find it? That's my personal property."

"Well, if we're asking those kinds of questions, I suppose I could ask you how and why you bugged my house. And why you thought I'd be fooled. I'm quite insulted, to be honest."

"How I did it and why is my business."

"Well, then I suppose you could say that how I procured your journal is mine. I'd be happy to take this up with the Wizengamot."

Rita huffed. "I'll have you know that my work is widely valued and I have contacts all over–"

"Yes, you think you're all that, don't you?" Potter said, smirking. "I'm sure your renown will hold fast if I expose you right now in front of this entire cafe. And then your chances for that job you're so interested in will be blown."

"How–?" Rita spluttered.

"I have some contacts of my own." He pulled out his wand and twirled it idly. "That shoddy Disillusionment charm is easily reversible…"

"This isn't over, Potter," Rita spat, straightening up.

"The door is that way." He smiled and pointed.

Rita ground her teeth and strode toward the exit, Potter and Weasley's laughter ringing in her ears.


	53. Counting

**A/N: Written for Round 2 of Year 3 of the Houses Competition for Slytherin House.**

 **Position: Stand-in for Year 3**

 **Category: Drabble**

 **Prompt: 1. [time] 08:12**

 **Word count: 580**

Marlene prided herself on being a valued co-conspirator to her friends, especially when she was younger. But ever since Lily had become closer with the self-proclaimed "Marauders", she felt she'd been pushed out of that position. Now, she was not an immature girl, and understood that she could not be in on all of Lily's jokes, but a nagging, petty jealousy had been building inside Marlene for a few weeks. So, she couldn't help herself when she saw her red-headed friend glancing surreptitiously at James and Sirius with a small notepad and quill at the breakfast table one Tuesday. So, Marlene marched herself over to the empty seat on Lily's right and propped her head on her chin.

"Whatcha doin'?" she asked, glancing at the notepad. It held only three vertical lines and three lines underneath.

"Watch, and you'll see," Lily replied airily, flicking her eyes to James once more, who was walking between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables with Sirius. Marlene opened her mouth to retort, but Lily cut her off. "Three questions."

Marlene huffed. "Fine. What are you and James doing?"

"There is no me and James," Lily said tightly. "I'm watching him."

"Why?" Marlene said, managing to hide her smugness from her voice, but not her face.

Lily swatted at her friend's arm and coughed. "Shut up. I just have a feeling something's gonna happen, and it might be… noteworthy." She sucked on the tip of the quill feather and turned her gaze to Remus.

Marleen hummed at this new subject of Lily's scrutiny. "And what's on your notepad?"

"Tallies," Lily said, smirking and waving at Remus when he noticed her looking at him.

"Tallies counting wha–?"

"Ah, ah, ah. No more questions. If my hunch is right, I'll tell you. Now watch."

"–probably the most intelligent question ever asked–" Remus said to Peter.

"You wanna know the best question ever asked?" Sirius asked through a mouthful of sausage.

Remus sighed and rolled his eyes. "What?"

"What if… you put a werewolf on the moon?"

Marlene watched as Sirius leaned back in his seat smugly, Peter mulled the question over, James's eyes brightened mischievously, and Remus became rigid and pale as he took a sip of tea.

"He'd explode and die because there's no oxygen on the moon," James answered promptly.

Peter's eyes widened comically and Sirius gasped dramatically. Unnoticed (except by Marlene, Lily, and James), Remus pitched forward and spat out his tea.

Marlene almost didn't catch Sirius's response as Lily smirked triumphantly and made another tally on her notepad and wrote the time underneath the previous three: 08:12.

"I never said we'd send him up without a suit, you absolute monster," Sirius was saying, his hand pressed against his chest in mock horror.

Marlene snorted as James quipped, "Yes, but once he transformed…"

"So, were you right?" she asked Lily.

Lily looked up from her bag, where she'd been tucking away her notepad and quill. "Hmm?"

"Were you right about your hunch?"

"Oh, yes," Lily said, smiling.

"So… what do your tallies mean?" Marlene asked, leaning in excitedly.

"How many times Remus Lupin has spat out tea," Lily whispered, grinning impishly.

Marlene's face fell. "It happens much less often than you'd think," she insisted. "And with the way Remus guards his tea…"

As Lily explained that she guessed you had to be close to Remus to get it, Marlene privately decided that maybe she was getting a little over-excited over Lily's sense of humor.


	54. Obliviate

**A/N: Written for Round 5 of the Houses Competition forum as a stand-in. Cracky :)**

 **House: Slytherin**

 **Position: Acting Year 7**

 **Category: Standard**

 **Theme: Feature a character from your house.**

 **Prompt: [action] jogging**

 **Word Count: 1,382**

June 18, 1996

Tom awoke to a fierce, dirty teenager pointing a wand at his neck. He was impossibly skinny for his age, but the hardness in his eyes and the competence with which he held his weapon made Tom nervous.

As the boy noticed Tom's eyes snapping open, he rushed forward, seizing Tom's arm in a vice-like grip. Then a wandpoint was pressed right against Tom's temple, _hard_. Tom cried out in pain and fear and struggled to get away from the boy. As rocks and chunks of plaster scraped his elbows, Tom saw the boy's eyes widen in shock. Tom used this advantage, scuttling further away from his attacker. He felt more painful jabs from rock underneath his elbows and for the first time he wondered how he had gotten where he was. As Tom thought frantically, for the boy had gotten over his shock and was now coming towards him again, he found that he could not recall anything about himself, save his name.

The boy's voice brought Tom out of his mind– how he got here wouldn't matter unless he was able to get away with his life.

" _Cru_ –"

"Wait!" Tom shouted, flinching. He didn't know what exactly the spell would do, but he had a feeling it would be very, very bad. "What do you want from me?"

The boy stopped again, dumbfounded, before he sneered. "That's rich. You're gonna pay!"

He lunged towards Tom, but Tom shrieked and scrambled away. "Pay for what? I didn't do anything, I swear!"

The boy finally pinned Tom to the ground, glaring at him with the most intense loathing Tom had ever seen. He was able to study the boy more closely now. The boy had messy, black hair, though whether it was always like that or had been mussed up from whatever he'd been doing that had gotten him so dirty, Tom couldn't say. His bright green eyes, hard with hate, had prominent dark circles under them and were framed by round, wire-rimmed glasses. Underneath the dirt and sweat, Tom could see that his skin would normally be tan, but now it was both palid and flushed, as if he were ill.

"Liar!" the boy screamed, hitting Tom repeatedly in the face. "You've killed my parents, and Sir-Sirius and probably Hermione, too! I'll kill you!"

Tom tried in vain to deflect the boy's hits. "Who are you? I never killed anyone!"

"Of course you don't think they're anyone, of course Mudbloods don't matter anything to you! Well, you're wrong!"

"What are– you– talking about?" Tom cried. "I swear I never killed anyone or hurt, but if I did, I'm sorry!"

This seemed to have been the right thing to say, because suddenly the blows stopped. "What did you say?" the boy hissed.

"I said I'm sorry," Tom gasped.

The boy didn't move from the position he'd been using to hit Tom. Instead, he stared at his wand, which he'd thrown on the floor, and then the boy stared at where he'd been standing before he'd attacked Tom. His jaw went slack. He looked back at Tom.

"What's your name?" the boy asked in an odd voice.

"Tom?" Tom had no idea what was going on, but decided it was best to answer the question rather than get pummeled again.

"Your full name."

"...I don't know."

"Do you know someone called Bellatrix Lestrange or Bellatrix Black?"

"No? Am I supposed to?"

The boy ignored him, and slowly a maniacal grin spread over his face. "What about James Potter?"

"No?"

"Lily Potter?"

"No."

"Harry Potter?"

"No."

"Albus Dumbledore?"

"No! Who are these people?"

Again, the boy ignored him, still grinning. Then, his face fell and he stared off into space, debating something with himself. He looked at Tom and then back at the empty space. Tom watched him from the ground fearfully. This boy was unpredictable, dangerous. He needed to get out of here.

Tom looked at his surroundings. He was in a large underground chamber. Large amounts of stone and plaster were strewn around the floor, some having come from the walls and ceiling. On one side of the room stood many turnstiles eerily void of personnel. Two walls opposite from each other were lined solely with fireplaces. On the fourth wall hung an enormous painting of a short, portly, blond, balding old man in a pinstriped suit holding a lime-green bowler hat. In the center of the chamber was a fountain made entirely of gold. It depicted a handsome man and a beautiful woman with wands pointed in the air. Around them, a centaur holding a bow-and-arrow, and two short creatures with long pointy ears and long pointy noses stood around them, all gazing admiringly at the man and woman. One short creature had a toga tied around itself and the other had a sharp-toothed grin and was holding a sculpted sack of coins. A plaque on the fountain base red: The Fountain of Magical Brethren. No water shot out of the fountain. In fact, the whole chamber was empty and quiet.

But before Tom could formulate a plan, the boy turned back around.

"Get up," he ordered quietly. Tom froze. "I said get up!"

Tom complied. He found that he was actually taller than the boy by quite a bit.

The boy inhaled sharply as Tom stood and took a step back before carrying on with whatever convoluted plan he had in his head. He then began speaking very quickly and quietly so that Tom had to strain to hear him.

"Go find somewhere secluded. Don't interact with anyone who has magic and do not use magic yourself. Do not try to find me or any of the people I mentioned. You will be killed on sight if you do. Find a way to sustain yourself. Above all else, do not talk to anyone wearing black robes and a silver mask with a black tattoo on their left forearm of a skull with a snake coming out of its mouth. Got all that?"

Tom nodded hesitantly, not wanting to anger the boy any further.

"Now go. Get out of here. I don't ever want to see your face again. If I do, you will be killed on sight. Just think of a destination – don't tell me what that destination is, mind you – and spin on your heel."

Startled, Tom tried to think of a place. His mind happened upon a small cemetery with an iron archway at the entrance. Engraved on that archway read: Great Hangleton Cemetery. He turned on his heel and felt like he would be suffocated to death. Just as he was about to pass out, Tom breathed in fresh, clean air. He opened his eyes to find the boy and underground chamber gone.

* * *

May 23, 2017

Harry stood with Ginny, Ron, and Hermione on Platform 9 ¾ looking down at his youngest son.

"Dad, what if I'm no good at magic?"

Harry sighed and squatted down, putting one hand on his son's shoulder and the other on his cheek.

"Gilderoy Lockhart Potter, you are named after a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher who taught me the most important skill I ever needed to know, and he was a dolt and a fraud. If he can do that, you'll be just fine."

Gilderoy thought about this, then nodded and ran off to join his brother on the train.

As the parents watched their children smile and laugh, Ron leaned over to Harry and whispered, "What did you ever learn from Lockhart?"

Harry smirked. " _Obliviate_."

* * *

When Harry and Ginny got home, it was to a frantic pounding on their door. Ginny frowned at Harry in confusion, and Harry shrugged and went to the door.

On their stoop was a tall, pale man. He was bald with barely any nose and red, slit-like pupils. He was wringing his hands in nervousness.

"Hey, Tom," Harry said easily.

"Those accursed weirdos are following me around again. Can I hide out here for a while?"

"Sure. I'll put on a kettle." Harry stepped aside to allow Tom in. Before he called the Aurors, he took a minute to appreciate the sight of Antonin Dolohov and Rabastan Lestrange fumbling around just out his wards, calling for their master.


	55. Hogwarts Memes

**A/N: Written for Round 5 of Year 3 of the Houses Competition forum.**

 **House: Slytherin**

 **Position: Acting Year 7**

 **Category: Drabble**

 **Prompt: 4. [object] blood flavored lollipop**

 **Word Count: 585**

Draco was walking through the Slytherin common room towards his friends after a disastrous charms lesson when the subject first came up: _memes_.

Pansy, Blaise, Crabbe and Goyle were lounging on their favorite couch by the portrait of Slytherin himself, Goyle with a lollipop stick protruding from his mouth.

Crabbe turned towards Pansy and asked, "Can you tutor me in potions? I having–"

He was interrupted by Pansy standing and announcing, "Tutor you? Why, boy, I can teach you to flambé success, bake brilliance, sautè excellence–"

Pansy herself was then cut off by a loud groan from Blaise. "Can you not? It's so old already."

As Goyle chuckled at the joke, Draco could see that the lollipop he had was Honeydukes's trademark blood flavor. Pansy pouted a little, but quickly recovered and had begun to pull out a notebook, saying "I have more!" when Draco sat down next to them.

"Okay, two things. First, Goyle, blood flavor, really?" Blaise and Pansy nodded at the boy as Draco set his bag down heavily on the floor. "Two, Pansy what the hell was that?"

"What was what?" she asked.

"You telling Crabbe you could teach him to roast magnificence or whatever."

"Ooh, that one's good," Pansy murmured, writing it down.

Blaise sighed. "It's a meme."

Draco frowned. "A what?"

"A meme. You know, something people say to, um… like, for laughs."

"I still don't get it."

"Fine. Take the Snape meme that Pansy was just saying–"

"My godfather has one of these?"

"Well, remember that speech he gave to us in first year?"

"Yeah..."

"Well, now people are imitating him, saying stuff like 'bake brilliance' and 'sauteè excellence' and stuff like that, so now it's a thing people say and it's funny, so it's a meme."

"I kind of get it.." Draco mused. "Why don't I have a meme?"

Pansy looked up from her notebook, smirking. "Well, you kind of do."

Draco squinted his eyes at her, not liking the way she was smirking or the way Blaise's eyes were dancing with mirth. "What do you mean?"

"You know how–how you always talk about Potter a lot–?"

"I do not!" Draco insisted. Blaise's shoulders started to shake.

Pansy raised her eyebrows at Draco. "Anyway, your meme is that whenever something goes wrong, people say 'Oh, Potter'." Blaise was openly laughing at him now.

"But then isn't that Potter's meme?" Draco asked.

"No, because you're the one that complains about 'that stupid Potter with his fame and his scar–'"

"Shut up!" Draco yelled at her, his face growing hot. "I don't believe you. _Stop laughing, Blaise!_ "

Blaise was now lying on his back, gasping for breath. Crabbe and Goyle hid smiles behind their hands, but as Draco stared at them, first Crabbe and then Goyle gave a great guffaw and joined Blaise on the couch.

"Just listen to people as things happen and you'll see," Pansy said with an impish grin.

"I'm going to prove you wrong," Draco sniffed, picking up his bag and making his way out of the common room. As he did, he shoved a third year girl he didn't know in annoyance. Her ink pot spilt all over her blouse, and she glared at Draco before glancing at her ruined shirt.

"Oh, Potter," she muttered.

Draco whirled, tomato red. "Shut up!"

He stalked out of the common room avoiding eye contact with anyone else, growling as he heard Blaise falling off the couch onto the floor with a _thud_ and Pansy cackling behind him.


	56. Dragons

**A/N: Written for the Houses Competition forum's Round 6.**

 **House: Ravenclaw**

 **Position: Acting Year 7**

 **Category: short story**

 **Prompt: 6. [character] Gideon Prewett**

 **Word count: 2,089**

April 1, 1978

Gideon ran his hands down his face for the umpteenth time and groaned.

Fabian looked up, the dark circles prominent under eyes. "Chinese?"

"Yeah." Gideon rose immediately, happy for the distraction from their obscene amount of paperwork. Fabian got up as well, slower than his brother, and was bombarded by his hat, coat, and keys– thrown to him, of course by Gideon. Gideon was altogether too excited and bouncing by the door by the time Fabian had shrugged on his coat.

"Come on," Gideon whined. "Stop being so lazy." When Fabian did not change his pace, he scoffed and was about to head out the door by himself when the floo flared to life.

"I swear to Merlin, Warren, if you tell me about the deadline one more time, I'll–"

"It's Arthur," the quiet voice of their brother-in-law answered from the fire. "Molly's having the baby."

"What, now?" Fabian asked, finally alert.

"Yes, now. Meet us at St. Mungo's immediately."

Arthur's head disappeared out of the fire, the flames turned orange again, and Gideon began walking towards their fireplace. "This is much better than Chinese food."

Fabian rolled his eyes, following behind his brother. "Yeah, no shit. And we might have missed the call if not for my 'laziness', as you put it, so you're welcome."

"Hey, don't use that language in front of the baby," Gideon said, ignoring the dig and grabbing a container of green powder from the mantle. "And we might miss it if you don't hurry up, so let's go!"

"'Miss it'? Geez, did no one ever tell you how long it takes a baby to be born? I didn't realize how much the lack of biology lessons at Hogwarts was affecting the youth."

"We're the same age and shut up! St. Mungo's Hospital!" Gideon said clearly, throwing a handful of powder into the flames. As he handed the container off to Fabian, the flames turned green and doubled in size. Gideon stepped into the fire and was whisked away, and Fabian followed soon after.

* * *

"Twins?!" Fabian gasped, leaning against the wall outside the birthing ward. He had stood up as soon as the healer had walked out and had to steady himself.

"Two healthy baby boys," the healer assured them. "The mother will be ready for visitors shortly." She nodded at them and then looked sympathetically at Gideon, who was bent double in his chair with his shoulders shaking, before heading back into the ward.

As soon as the door closed behind the Healer, Fabian looked askance at his brother. "What the hell is so funny?"

The Healer thought he'd been crying, but Fabian knew as his brother sat up that they were tears of laughter in his eyes.

"Twins… they already have three kids… I was shocked… but then I imagined Arthur… he already can't tell Bill and Charlie apart–"

Fabian rolled his eyes as Gideon collapsed into giggles again, but he let his lips quirk up when he knew Gideon wasn't looking.

After a few minutes, Gideon had calmed down and another Healer had popped his head out to say they could come in.

"Should we wake them up?" Fabian asked, pointing at the three flame-haired children curled up and sleeping soundly in three chairs.

"I suppose," Gideon said, standing and stretching. He shook Charlie and Bill's shoulders, leaving Fabian to deal with two-year-old Percy.

They entered the ward, Percy balanced on Fabian's hip and Bill and Charlie each clutching one of Gideon's hands. Molly was lying in her hospital bed looking immensely weary and in pain, but her eyes also glowed with happiness that her brothers hadn't seen since she'd given birth to Percy. She was holding a small bundle wrapped in blue and standing beside her, Arthur held another bundle swaddled in yellow.

"Bill, Charlie, Percy, meet your new brothers," Molly whispered, grinning at her sons.

"Two new brothers?" Charlie asked loudly, and the adults hushed him, looking fearfully at the sleeping newborns. "Why two?"

"That's just how it worked out," Molly said gently, gazing down adoringly at the squashed face in her arms.

"And we're very lucky it did," Arthur said, his face growing lined as he too smiled.

Fabian saw Gideon's mouth quirk up, and he reached his foot around Bill to kick Gideon into silence.

The three boys crowded around the bed, Percy lying next to his mother and crying about how he hadn't seen her in a whole day. As the family rejoiced, the newborn in Molly's arms woke up and began to cry. This upset Percy, who began to wail as well.

Molly knew the baby needed to be fed, but she couldn't with Percy sobbing on her shoulder and her two eldest asking insiscent questions. "Arthur, fabian, can you–"

"Yeah, hold on," Arthur said, quietly frantic. He handed the baby in his arms off to Gideon as he scooped up Percy. Fabian took Bill and Charlie's hands and led them out of the ward, ensuring them that they'd be back soon and Mummy just needed some alone time.

Amid all the chaos, Gideon found himself silently panicking. What if he dropped the baby? What if he was holding it wrong? There was something about babies' heads, wasn't there?

He looked up and found that the ward was quiet once more. Percy was asleep again on Arthur's shoulder and the other baby was quietly nursing.

"What are their names?" Gideon asked.

Molly and Arthur whirled, seemingly surprised that he was still there. But Molly easily answered, "Fred and George."

"F and G," Gideon commented without thinking. "Like me and Fabian."

"That was part of our inspiration," Molly admitted, smiling at her brother. "They reminded me of you two when you were babies." Gideon smiled at her. "You know Fred's middle name is Gideon and George's is Fabian?"

"Wow, Molly," Gideon said quietly, and was surprised to find his eyes growing slightly wet. "Which one do I have?"

"That's um… George. Yes, that's George."

Gideon smirked. "You sure?"

"Shut up," Molly said.

Gideon turned his attention back to his sleeping nephew. "Look at us, two halves of the two sets of Prewett twins, both with the same first initial."

"He's a Weasley, Gideon," Molly said.

"Oh right. He still looks like me though. I bet he's got my stunning eyes."

"I suppose you do look alike. You never could grow a beard."

"Oh, shut your–"

"Not in front of the babies, Gideon!" Molly hissed.

"But before, you told me–"

They were interrupted by Fred spitting up on Molly's hospital gown and then proceeding to cry again.

"At least you'll be able to tell them apart when they're babies–"

"Oh, Merlin's saggy– Arthur, can you help me?" Molly said agitatedly.

As Fred was passed to Arthur, who had to try to calm his newborn son and his wife at the same time, Gideon sat down with George on the chair Arthur had sat on when Molly was giving birth.

"I'm glad you're a quiet one," he whispered to his sleeping nephew, watching the drama unfold before him amusedly.

* * *

December 25, 1980

"Uncle Fabian! Uncle Gideon!"

The two brothers were bombarded by twin two-year-olds rushing out of the Burrow into the cold to tackle them. Gideon shifted the packages in his arms just in time for George to come barrelling into his chest.

"Merry Christmas, you two! How are my favorite nephews?" Gideon asked.

Fred and George's "Good!"s were interrupted by a voice from one of the shadows in the doorway. "We heard that!"

"He's only joking, Bill," Fabian called, throwing his brother a dirty look.

"Come on, let's get you inside," Gideon said to George. He was attacked by yet more family members hugging him and eventually his packages went flying across the room as he struggled to hold it all. The five oldest children ran across the room, shouting "Presents!" and 9-month-old Ron squirmed in his mother's arms.

"So glad you could make it," Molly said, smiling hugging each of her brothers with one arm. It was an ordinary sentiment, but the adults all smiled at each other knowing the significance it held in these times. "Well, let's get you guys something to eat. I bet you've grown tired of only takeout from the – what, three? – rotating restaurants you patron? I'll get you real food."

"Don't forget the rations, Molly," Gideon said jokingly. "Those are quite delicious." Both she and Fabian glared at him with nods towards the children. Gideon ducked his head in apology, but sure enough, Charlie's voice came from the living room: "What are ra-shuns?"

* * *

"Uncle Gideon! Uncle Gideon! Can we play dragons tomorrow?" George asked with large eyes.

The adults, who'd stayed after dinner to talk at the table while the children played, exchanged uncomfortable looks, but they all looked to Gideon answer the question.

He got up from his chair and knelt down. "I'm really sorry Georgy, but Uncle Fabian and I aren't going to be here tomorrow."

He could already see tears in the two-year-old's eyes. "What'd'ya mean?"

"We're going on a... trip. A business trip, for very important business, and we might be gone a while. We're leaving tonight, but we wanted to see you guys for Christmas before we go."

George sighed. "How long is a while?"

"A few months, Georgy, maybe a year."

"No!" George cried, and quick;y attached his tiny body onto Gideon's leg. "You can't go!" His tears were streaming down his cheeks now and his nose was running too.

Gideon smoothed the boy's hair. "Hey, how about I make you a deal."

"What's a deal?" George sniffed.

"It's like a promise. I promise you that when we get back, I will play dragons with you."

"Really?"

"Mmhm. We'll play for hours and hours, for so long, you'll get sick of playing dragons."

"Okay." George sniffed again and wiped his nose with the back of his hand "I still don't want you to go, Uncle Gideon."

"I know, Georgy. But we have to. It's very important business, and you have my word."

"Fine." George hung his head and detached himself from Gideon's leg.

"Gideon," Molly's quiet voice said from behind him. "It's time."

He turned to see Fabian reluctantly standing up from the table and leave to get their coats and bags. Molly pulled him into a giant bear hug.

"I'm going to miss you guys so much," she whispered into his ear.

"We'll miss you too, Molly."

"You have to keep your word. You have to come back."

"We will, I promise."

"Swear on Merlin's grave."

"I swear."

"Oh god. How long did Dumbledore say?"

"Three months to a year."

"Oh god," she repeated. "Contact me whenever you can–"

"There are no opportunities like that, Molly. We're going completely underground."

"And don't disappoint your nephews."

"I won't."

"Do you hear me, Gideon Prewett? Do. Not. Die."

"I promise."

"If you're not back by next Christmas–"

"Don't finish that sentence. We'll be back."

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

Fabian then returned from the hall and Molly went to say goodbye to him as well. Arthur and Gideon shook hands, and then Arthur did the same with Fabian, and all the children received hugs and kisses.

As Gideon was about to step outside again, he felt a tugging on his pant leg. He looked down to see George there. Not-so-reluctantly, he bent down to hear what the little boy had to say.

"You have to pinkie swear," George whispered.

Immediately, Gideon had his hand out and pinkie extended. George interlocked his pinkie wot his uncle's and Gideon said, "I pinkie swear to you that we'll play dragons when we get back."

George smiled. "Good."

Gideon bent down further so he was whispering in George's ear. "Can I tell you something? You are my favorite nephew. More even than Fred."

"Really?" George exclaimed happily.

"Yes, but don't tell anyone. I love them all, but you're my favorite, Georgy." Gideon planted a kiss on the two-year-old's head. "I'll be back."

"And we'll play dragons, right?" George asked as he stood.

"Yes, I already swore to you, didn't I?" He stepped out the door and turned around once more. "I love you all. Bye now!"

And he followed Fabian into the brisk December winds and spun away.

* * *

 _In loving memory…_

 _Fabian and Gideon Prewett_

 _Loving sons, uncles, and brothers_

 _Faithful warriors_

 _United in the strength of their love_

 _They fought until the very end_


	57. The Willow Grave

**A/N: Written for the Houses Competition forum's Round 6.**

 **House: Ravenclaw**

 **Position: Acting Year 7**

 **Category: standard**

 **Prompt: 10. [weather] clear skies**

 **Word count: 1,116**

June 19, 1999

It was a clear day. Odd for the occasion but strangely fitting for this person. It was exactly the same as it had been three years ago: sunny, not a cloud in the azure sky, and a warm breeze running through the grass of Hogwarts' grounds. What was not the same as it had been three years ago was that on this day in 1996, exams had been over and all the students had been celebrating in the glorious weather. But exams were in full swing now and everyone was forced to stay inside, so Harry had the grounds – well, he thought of them as more of a graveyard now – all to himself, which was just the way he liked it.

It had just so happened that Harry had completed his project on the exact date of his Godfather's death. Perhaps Kingsley had recognized the significance of the date for him and given the Wizengamot that little extra push – Harry would never know and he didn't care.

He had been walking around the Black Lake for a good fifteen minutes now, trying to figure out how to phrase what he was trying to say, as if Sirius would care. He wouldn't care even if he was alive (Harry smiled a little at that), but Harry had worked a lot for this and he wanted to deliver the good news to the underworld as eloquently as possible.

Harry knew there would be no more stalling. He was now approaching the tiny stone in the ground, hidden from nosy or disrespectful students by a small little sapling only a few inches high. But already, Harry could the beginnings of branches and as he looked about a hundred yards to his right, he knew this tree would grow to the size and shape of the willow planted twenty-eight years ago, and would grow branches to guard his godfather as the willow before it guarded the shrieking shack (though it wouldn't attack people trying to visit).

Harry knelt down at the symbolic grave – they hadn't had a body, of course – and admired the tree for another moment before starting.

"I've made it all right with them, Sirius. I know you probably don't care…" Oh crap, he could feel the tears already. "...but I made them do it. You've been posthumously exonerated and you have an Order of Merlin, First Class for your bravery. I've inherited the reparations for the years you spent in Azkaban and on the run, but I gave them to Hermione and Neville and they're going to open up a shelter for wizard kids who don't have a great home life. I know that's probably the only part of this you'd care about if you… if you were here.

"The Ministry released the formal apology yesterday– I think Kingsley might have pushed it through the Wizengamot for me, since it's already taken them a whole year. The Black family name has been restored to its former glory – it's glorious for different reasons now, of course, but I'm sure you still hate it. I tried to get them to do something else instead, but they wouldn't budge. I'm sorry.

"Your name is on the memorial right over there. It's carved really big too. If you could see out of this rock, you'd get a really nice view of it, I made sure of that. There's also a small commendation for mischief under the heroic war stuff you did, I thought you'd like that.

"Anyway, that's what I've been working on this past year. I might take a few months off before going out and rebuilding the Ministry with Hermione and the others, we'll see. Hermione's high in the DMLE now, and she's got long term plans to become the Minister of Magic. You know she and Ron are already engaged? It's crazy.

"You know, we've all been forced to grow up because of this war, and now the other people I know are still continuing to become adults and they're not even twenty yet. But I want to live out my twenties being like any other person. I know you and Mum and Dad and Remus didn't really get to, so… It seems that one of us should.

"We have long term plans to reform the Ministry, though. That's a small part of why I did all this. Most of it was for you, of course, but I also think that going back and repairing any mistakes that the Ministry made back then is worth doing. Hermione is also working on house elf rights and we're putting blood-status equality legislations in so that prejudice can't take hold. The Wizengamot is going to be equalized and everything… it'll be great.

"I always thought Ron, Neville, and I would become Aurors, you know? Catching bad guys is all we know how to do. But Neville is teaching Herbology at Hogwarts starting next year and Ron has decided to work with George in Weasley's Wheezes. I'm not really sure what I'm going to do.

"Anyway, I think that's it for now. Can you say 'hello' to Mum and Dad and Remus and Fred for me? And Tonks, too. Let her and Moony know that Teddy's doing just fine. Andromeda and I have worked out how we're going to take care of him. He can already change his hair to red, pink, and turquoise– he likes that last color the most. I'll talk to you soon. Bye."

Harry stood and brushed off his robes, looking at the Herbology exam taking place in Greenhouse Two all the way across the lake. He reached up to touch his face and was surprised to find it wet. He hadn't felt the crushing weight of despair he used to every time he thought of his godfather. Perhaps the man just made him emotional. Besides, Harry felt more stable now. More relaxed, more at peace. Maybe this was closure. It felt good.

Harry looked into the clear sky. This day was so similar, yet so different to the one three years ago. His life was no longer falling apart at the seams, but it was coming back together, and the sense of peace he found carried him all the way to Andromeda's house to pick up Teddy, where they played with blocks and little dolls and other things Harry had collected for his godson. He enjoyed his time with Teddy, as he knew Remus and Tonks hadn't been able to, as he knew his Mum and Dad and godfather never got to enjoy with him. He felt grateful for the opportunity. He was going to make every moment count.


End file.
